


The Movers, The Shakers, The Mischief Makers

by Penwyn, PocketFox



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1976-1981, A Long and Frankly Obsessive Biopic of a Band of Idiots, All the Pain You Love and Expect from MWPP, Canon Compliant, F/M, First War with Voldemort, Growing Up, Hurt Remus Lupin, Hurt Sirius Black, James Potter Ships Remus Lupin/Sirius Black, James Potter is a Good Friend, Leather Jackets, M/M, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Marauders Friendship (Harry Potter), Multimedia, Peter Pettigrew Isn’t an Idiot, Post-Sirius Black's Prank on Severus Snape, Punk Sirius Black, Recreational Drug Use, Sirius Black & James Potter Friendship, Sirius Black Thinks Feelings are Very Punk Rock, Sirius Black's Flying Motorbike, Teen Years, The Marauder's Map, The Marauders Through the Years, They smoked a lot of weed in the 70s and it's faithfully represented here, early 20s, teenagers doing teenager things, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:42:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24366001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penwyn/pseuds/Penwyn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PocketFox/pseuds/PocketFox
Summary: The story of four young men as they navigate the turbulent waters of life, love, and growing up together. As the wind carries whispers of a Dark wizard rising to power, James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew have more important things to worry about: growing up, smoking grass, motorbikes, NEWTs, first loves, heartbreak, and betrayal.Beginning post-prank at the beginning of the Marauders’ sixth year and ending in November 1981. A Sirius Black and Remus Lupin-centric multimedia project, with POV from all Marauders. Canon-compliant (books, not Pottermore) with some canon timelines shuffled for maximum impact.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Peter Pettigrew/Original Character(s), Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	1. Part 1: Understanding in a Car Crash

**Author's Note:**

> See the beginning of each chapter for relevant Spotify playlists and other links.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three journal entries, one long day, and two photographs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Spotify Playlist for Part 1](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0Ogo7GdY82hrlrYPIXotQr?si=6qXyRIJSTr6zru1bn7I_kA)

* * *

_“The fiercest anger of all, the most incurable,_  
_Is that which rages in the place of dearest love.”_  
_― Euripides_

* * *

_1 July, 1976_

_Scribbled onto an old piece of parchment, later stuffed into Sirius Black’s journal._

We’ve managed it.

WE HAVE FUCKING MANAGED IT.

There is nothing in the world like being a fucking dog. James says it’s all too fitting that I’m a complete idiot in Animagus form as well as human, but I think he can go fuck himself because he’s just _jealous_ that he’s a poncy _deer_ and not a goddamned enormous _dog._

Let it be known that on 1 July, 1976, I, Sirius Orion Black, have mastered Transfiguration and should be awarded a trophy for _merit and brilliance._

When you’re a dog, there’s this thing that I can’t even begin to explain. Everything is wonderful. Everything smells, everything, everyone has a smell and you are so bloody _happy_ that you forget your parents have thrown you out for good and your best friend hates you.

You forget that the world is shit and you are shit, and in that moment you are _king_.

Granted, you are a king who wants nothing less than the highest quality shit to roll about in, but that has its own merits as well, I suppose. 

Peter is a rat, which is an absolute riot. Fits him, paranoid and twitchy. James, as I said, is a deer. Stag, really. He’s got these antlers that are way overcompensating for something.

Poor Evans (not that he’ll pull her).

Let’s see if we can keep it a secret.

_Sirius_

* * *

_31 August, 1976_

Tomorrow’s the day James and I catch the train and head in for our sixth year. Mrs Potter, bless her, thought it would be a good idea to give me this journal so I could _write down my feelings._ Joy of joys.

She’s been lovely about this whole thing, honestly. I don’t know why I’m complaining. I’m a damned honorary Potter, and I think they might like me better than Jamesie. Who can blame them?

I ran away; they took me in. They’re a far cry better than my own parents (who disowned me, by-the-by). I should have been born a Potter, then I wouldn’t have had to endure half the shite I have. It’s enough to drive a man to Firewhiskey.

Speaking of Firewhiskey, I’m getting absolutely pissed before the train tomorrow. Lupin’s still not spoken a word to me. He didn’t visit over the summer, didn’t send a bloody owl, nothing. It was a harmless fucking prank; no one _died_ . No one got hurt. All of my owls returned unopened. I don’t think he’s spoken to James, either. I wonder if he’s owling _Snivellus_. Bet he is. Fucking werewolves, flighty buggers all.

He’s going to eat his tail when he sees what we’ve been working on all summer. I hope. This sort of Transfiguration is really hard on the bowels.

I’m already planning my first prank of the year, involving Snivelly and a Nose-Biting Teacup. Or several dozen. Classic. What a tosser.

_~~If I find out Remus has been owling him, he’s fucking dead this time.~~ _

The only thing I’m going to hate about going back to Hogwarts is that I’ll be leaving my new motorbike behind. I’ve spent half the summer tinkering on it, and it’s still in dire need of my care. I’ve rented a storage space in Hogsmeade to keep it, but I won’t be able to get down to it as much as I’ll like without sneaking out. I wouldn’t _dare_ do that, of course.

Not me. Perish the thought.

_Sirius_

* * *

_31 August, 1976_

Funny. For the past few years, the first of September was my favourite day. It was the day I finally got to get out of here and back to Hogwarts. Back to my mates ~~, and back to where I felt like a real person and not a monster~~.

I think I might be dreading it right now, though. Things got so ugly near the end of last term. I didn’t visit Sirius or James at all this summer. I didn’t even owl them. I have no idea how I’m going to manage seeing them at the station tomorrow, either. Maybe I can just find Severus and sit with him instead. Sirius might leave us _both_ alone in that case.

I think I would’ve gone completely barking mad this summer if it hadn’t been for Severus. We started talking, a little, after the incident last spring, and we’ve been owling back and forth all summer. He isn’t nearly as bad as Sirius or James or most everyone else likes to think; he’s terribly clever and eloquent, and he loves to read as much as I do.

He’s lonely, too, I think. Like me. Sirius and James never really understood that. They’ve always been popular and handsome and…well, not ~~werewo~~ like me. They are (were?) my best mates, but they couldn’t really understand that part, not really. Severus does, though. More than I thought anyone would.

Maybe I’ll survive this next term after all.

_Remus_

* * *

_1 September, 1976_

The first of September dawned on Sirius Black, for once, already awake. James, of course, was still out, but Sirius was sitting on the edge of his bed at the Potters’, listening for morning sounds in the rest of the house. _Early to bed and early to rise, old chap_ was just the sort of knackered nonsense Mr Potter would chirp at him over a morning hangover, but Sirius wasn’t hungover this time. 

Sirius was sober as the grave. Not putting on a show, not performing for anyone, Sirius was instead coming apart at the seams. In an hour, he’d have to sew himself back together again and head for King’s Cross. On tender feet, he crept to the window, watching the last twinkling stars go out one by one. The moon, still nine days out from full, taunted him near the tree-line. 

_You know what you did, and you deserved what you got_.

What a summer. Lupin hadn’t said a word, hadn’t responded to a single letter no matter how hysterical he got about it, so Sirius stopped writing them. And then Sirius got disowned.

Not that he’d told Remus that. Not that Remus would have opened the letter if he had. He eyed the stack of unopened, returned letters on his nightstand, then faced the sky again with hands clenching on the windowsill. _You deserve it_. 

The door banged open entirely too loudly, entirely too much of a fucking surprise in the silence of morning, and Sirius shrieked in a most masculine and entirely-controlled way, definitely not like a little girl, in the moment before he was tackled to the ground.

“HOGWARTS HOGWARTS HOGGY-WARTY—”

“Geroff me you sodd—”

“—HOGWARTS TEACH US SOMETHING PLEASE—YOU’RE NOT SINGING, BLACK!”

_Knit yourself up, mate_. “Whether we be OLD AND BALD—”

“—OR YOUNG WITH SCABBY KNEES—”

James Potter screaming into his ear was enough to shrink any seam and chase away any shadow. Still, the moon slipped lower along the tree-line, waxing. Eight days.

When they arrived at King’s Cross Station, Sirius with his trunk shrunk to the size of a cigarette packet and James with his broom slung over his shoulders, the platform was swarming. They’d nearly been late (through no fault of James’ own), and he was spoiling to see Lily Evans in the flesh for the first time in months.

He could practically hear Sirius’ eyes rolling as he stood up on tiptoe. “Honestly, Potter, you’re a shell of a man,” he said. “I am nearly ashamed of you.”

“Nearly,” James said, sinking back to his heels as he spotted not Lily, but Sirius’ parents fawning over Regulus. Did they _have_ to make a scene about kissing him goodbye? 

He glanced cautiously at Sirius. Of course, he saw them. Of _course_ he did, and the weight of it slumped his shoulders. Were James a lesser man, he’d have nudged him and said something like, “You’re not being very punk rock right now, are you?” As it was, he knocked their elbows together. “Come on, mate. Let’s find the lads. Look, there’s one of them now.” He pointed into the crowd, and Sirius whirled to see Peter breaking away from his mum. 

Peter caught sight of them at once and raised a hand, and Sirius _bounded_ across the platform. “PETE. MY BOY.” He hauled Peter Pettigrew off his feet and whirled him in the air before unceremoniously depositing a large kiss directly onto his mouth. Nevermind that Peter had gone back home only three days before from the Potters’.

“Merlin, Black, let me down!” Peter sounded entirely too chuffed to mean it, and Sirius gave him another spin.

“Where’s Remus?” Sirius asked, and he dropped Peter without preamble. James rushed to steady him; Peter wasn’t the most graceful lad.

“Where?” Peter chirped, throwing an arm around James’ shoulders.

Sirius squinted over the crowd. “I’m asking you.”

“Well, I’m asking _you_.”

Where, indeed? James spotted him first, wincing. He was halfway down the platform, doing the unimaginable. 

Offending the sturdiest of sensibilities. 

Committing the most heinous sin. 

He was _talking to Severus Snape_ . Not only were they talking, but there wasn’t a sneer or a barbed comment to be seen. Remus actually _laughed_ at something Snape said, which elicited the smallest quirk of a smile from his new bosom companion.

That was _so_ not on. 

James grabbed Sirius by the sleeve at once and pulled him in. “Sirius. Don’t.” All the color drained from Sirius’ face in the moment before he ripped his sleeve painfully from James’ grip. “Sirius, _please—_ ”

Sirius stared at Remus and Snape, his entire body rigid and unmoving.

He was impressed, really, with Sirius’ restraint. Given the events of the summer—the running away and subsequent disowning, the malaise, the unending stream of returned letters—he thought the old boy might well _Avada Kedavra_ Snivellus on the spot and break Remus’ nose. “Just leave it, mate. Let him off. You don’t want to piss him off any more than he already is.”

He could practically hear the gears turning in Sirius’ head as he ran through his options. When it seemed he was resolved on one, he met James’ eyes. “He likes poetry, Remus does. You reckon?”

“What?”

Without another word to James, Sirius tore arse across the platform, meeting Snape’s eyes briefly before he leapt upon Remus’ back and howled, “I HAVE BEEN ADRIFT. LOST. FROM CHILDHOOD’S HOUR I HAVE NOT BEEN. AS OTHERS WERE, I HAVE NOT SEEN. AS OTHERS SAW, I COULD NOT AWAKEN. MY HEART TO JOY AT THE SAME TONE. AND ALL I LOVED, I LOVED ALONE. THAT’S POE, THAT IS.” 

Every single head turned to hear Sirius’ shrieking oratory. James’ eyebrows rose and all his pride in Sirius’ restraint vanished. _When did he read Poe?_ This was going to be bad. He took off after Sirius, Peter in tow.

“Sirius?!” Remus’ squawk was indignant, so much like the _before_ Remus, that James wondered for a moment if all would be forgiven in an instant of flying, Poe-quoting idiocy. The one moment was all Sirius was allowed, however; in the next, Remus tried to shake him off, eyes flinty and lips pressed into a thin line. “Get off—Get _off_ , I said! What the _hell_ , Sirius?!” 

No such luck with forgiveness. It wasn’t Remus’ normal playful irritation, but real anger tingeing his voice. Even the Lupins, standing dutiful watch, exchanged a glance, and James did not miss Snape swallowing a triumphant smirk.

Sirius did not, as it happened, get off. He did not slide off Remus’ back, put his feet on the ground, nothing—instead, he latched on like the giant squid. Long, gangly limbs wrapped and tangled around Remus’ middle and he squeezed. “All summer. Months. _Months_. I was going spare, I’ve lost weight, I—”

“Salut, Remus!” James had to step in before someone drew first blood, but he did not dare touch the hideous two-headed creature that was Remrius _. Blupin. Yes, Blupin._ Instead, he inserted himself coolly between Remus and Snivellus. “Don’t let the sod leave marks, Lupin; he’s likely to start sucking. Pete, for fuck’s sake.”

Peter, devilishly brave Peter, was behind the pair, gently trying to disentangle Sirius; unfortunately, gentle wasn’t really the way to go about it, and he made little headway. “We missed you, Remus,” Peter said genuinely. _A good lad, Peter._

Remus grunted as Sirius nearly squeezed the air out of him and redoubled his efforts to dislodge the idiot. “Hello, James, Peter,” he muttered, significantly less testily but still very much off. “Hope you had a good holiday.” The nicety grated like sandpaper, and his smile was forced. Sirius muttered something James did not catch, and Remus’ expression froze. Somehow his shoulders drew up even tighter. “Let go, Sirius,” he said quietly.

That, softly spoken, unhooked Sirius Black like a slug getting hit with salt. It took a moment as if he needed to process it, then he let go all at once. Graceful as ever, he landed on his feet and elbowed Peter off, then stormed onto the train without another word.

James watched him go, doing his very best to keep a straight face and not let it fall. Sirius never looked like that, never gave up. “Remus, I get it. I get why you’re pissed, alright?” He glared at Snape, then stepped close so he could murmur loudly enough only for Remus to hear. “He spent all summer moping and writing you letters. Sirius, moping, all holiday. It was so bad he went and got himself un-scioned by the Moste Noble and Ancient. He won’t even tell us what happened.”

Remus’ jaw flexed before he replied in the same low tone. “No, you _don’t_ get it, James. None of you do, because you _can’t_ . Has Sirius even tried to understand, or has he been too busy _moping_?” 

James frowned at Remus, then; he didn’t scowl, didn’t snarl, didn’t do anything remotely angry. Instead, he frowned, thoughtful and heavy with something. Like something had been lost. “Is that what you spent the summer doing, Remus, instead of writing back or even opening his letters? You spent it becoming _mean_?”

Peter glowered at Snape and jerked towards him, like he might tackle him but stopped short. He hissed through the gap in his front teeth. “Nice summer, eh, Sniv?”

Beside them, Severus drew himself to his full, rather impressive height and looked down his nose at Peter. Instead of answering, he simply turned his attention to Remus and said, “We should be getting on the train, Remus.”

_We. Remus_ . Like they were _friends_. 

Remus almost seemed apologetic. “I’ll catch up with you later, all right?” he told them, reaching for the handle of his trunk.

James’ gaze cooled. “Yes, Remus, go on with Snivellus who, in the same incident, was only stopped from telling the entire world about it by Dumbledore. What’s the matter, Sniv?” He turned on Snape, then, eyes dark and flashing dangerous. “Bungled it so badly with Evans—what was it you called her, again? —that you’re trying to get your revenge by taking advantage of Remus?”

In a sudden panic, Remus looked between his oldest friends and his newest one. His stomach lurched with sudden vertigo, as he felt himself balancing on the edge of some precipice, knowing one wrong step would cost him _everything_.

There was a deep and obvious throat clearing nearby. Lyall stepped forward, putting a hand on Remus’ shoulder and addressing all four boys. “Why don’t you boys worry about all of this once you’re not in danger of being left behind, eh?” he said, gesturing to the train and making it clear it wasn’t a suggestion.

Remus’ shoulders hunched, and James saw the plea for him to leave it. For his part, Severus merely sneered at James, spun on his heel, and stalked onto the train.

James smiled up at Lyall as winningly as he could manage when his heart was shattering. “Ta, Mr Lupin. Have a good year, yeah?” He met Remus’ pleading gaze and shook his head once, expression unreadable, before he hopped the train. “Come on, Pete. Let’s go find Sirius before he hangs himself. Don’t want Remus missing Prefect duty, so _we’ll_ manage it.” He said it in such a way that suggested very much that Remus should be managing it, too.

Peter fidgeted with both hands. “Nice to see you, Mr Lupin.” Then, as ever, he quickly fell into James’ footsteps.

The train ride was long and desperately miserable. Sirius was inconsolable, Peter never shut _up_ in order to fill the silence, and only once the train moved did James, with a loud yelp, realise he had not yet seen Lily. He left the compartment, checking every single one until he found her, and so when he wasn’t stalking or otherwise making a nuisance of himself, he chattered endlessly about her next to Sirius.

Sirius didn’t even raise his head off the window for the trolley. He stared blankly at the English countryside, swaying with the movement of the train. Peter bought about a thousand Chocolate Frogs, but when he offered one to Sirius, he was met with a deep sigh.

Sirius got to his feet, colourless. “I think I need a walk, lads.” He flung himself out before anyone could say otherwise.

Sirius Black didn’t _get_ it. None of them _got_ it.

Remus, sitting alone in a compartment, clung to his anger, wrapping it around himself like a cloak. If he didn’t, he knew his soft heart would overwhelm him again. He would beg to know what had happened to Sirius over the summer, to hear about the Blacks, to tell him all was forgiven. He might even run off to search the train for him, and Remus couldn’t do that. He couldn’t give Sirius yet another pass, as though it had all been just another mad Marauder prank. Not this time.

Not when Severus’ life had been at stake.

His parents hadn’t even been told what happened. They suspected, of course, that it had something to do with the fact that Remus had spent the entire summer at home. There had been no visits to his friends, nor any visits from him, and after a few attempts at finding out why that were answered with testy or morose deflections (depending on how near the full moon was), Lyall and Hope had left well enough alone. “They’ll hash it out,” Lyall had reassured Hope, when Remus eavesdropped outside the kitchen. “Just you wait, by the time the first week of term is over, it’ll be like nothing ever happened.” 

He, of course, had no idea how egregious the rift between the boys was, else he probably wouldn’t have been so hopeful. He probably would have strung Sirius Black up himself, in fact. Remus would have counted on it.

On the platform, Sirius had sounded genuinely devastated. “Three months. I—five, counting. Five months.” The softest words, whispered for Remus’ hair only.

“Let go, Sirius.” And he had.

Remus knew how long it had been. He knew down to the day; he’d been counting them, hoping his hurt and anger would finally start to fade, but they never did. His one secret, his greatest secret, had been used for Sirius’ own ends. His hatred of Severus Snape was greater than his love for Remus Lupin, and Remus was starting to think the wound left by that betrayal would never heal.

The door to the compartment slammed open, and Remus jumped in his seat, eyes widening at the sight of Sirius in the doorway. For a split second, he thought Sirius had sought him out, but his fears ( _hopes? Was I hoping for this?_ ) were dashed when Sirius’ face fell in a way that shattered something inside his chest.

Sirius shoved the door closed and unmistakably ran down the corridor.

For a few moments, Remus simply sat where he was. Sirius had run away. Sirius _never_ ran away. He puffed himself even bigger than whatever frightened him, making it cower in submission often through bravado alone. It was one of the things that had so attracted the small, bookish boy in the baggy jumpers from the very first day. To see him flee, and from _Remus_ , of all people, with such a stricken expression on his face beggared belief.

_Maybe he gets it more than I think he does._

Before he could think better of it, Remus jumped to his feet and ran after his friend, desperate to know what put that haunted haze in Sirius’ eyes, because it couldn’t be him. It couldn’t be anything, because Sirius always bounced back. He _always_ bounced back. 

Remus reached the lavatory as the door slammed shut behind Sirius, and he grimaced at the unmistakable sounds of retching that filtered through to the aisle. “Sirius?” he called hesitantly. “Sirius, are you alright? C-come on, mate, it’s not that bad, is it?” Remus cursed the way he tripped over his words. “Did Kreacher undercook your eggs this—” Too late, he remembered what James had said. _Un-scioned. Shite_. “Sirius, open the door, mate. Please?”

The seconds of silence might have stretched into hours before Sirius said anything. “Go ‘way.” His voice was rough and low. “Just fucking _go_.”

Remus actually stepped back as though physically struck. Of all the reactions he thought Sirius might give him, outright rejection hadn’t been one of them. After so many years, the ever-present conviction that the Marauders would eventually tire of him and all the trouble he brought had faded, but Sirius’ open rejection brought it all back with a vengeance. Remus closed his eyes momentarily and let his hand rest on the frosted glass of the door; when Sirius did not recant, he turned to retreat back to his compartment.

He didn’t make it far, having barely turned himself around when James caught him by the shoulders and got his glasses squished against Remus’ chest. “Phwoar, Remus, you fuckin’ grew, mate. He’s puking again, isn’t he?” He squinted around Remus, down the corridor towards the closed loo. “He’s been this way since he came to stay with me on, shall we say, a more permanent basis. Wild swings. Maddening. You’d think you wouldn’t miss how he never shuts it, but you do.” James let go of Remus’ shoulders.

“You’re not going to cry on me, too, are you?” He sounded only half-joking. 

While normally, literally running into James would be the perfect balm for Remus’ wounds, at that moment he could think of nothing he wanted less. “I’m not going to cry,” he promised, although it was obvious that if the statement wasn’t an outright lie, it was close enough for Ministry work. Remus glanced at the closed door again, worrying his lower lip in his teeth.

“Mate, this is going to be a shit year if you two don’t muck it out, but a word of advice: stay out of the splash zone. Let him sleep it off. Catch him when he’s vulnerable, not—beyond,” James advised.

“You’ll keep an eye on him, won’t you, James? No, that’s a daft question, of course you will. Merlin’s beard, I never thought we’d ever have to take his dramatics seriously.” It was a poor attempt at humour, and Remus’ voice cracked at the end. “I should, uh. I should probably get back to my seat before someone nicks the last of my Chocolate Frogs.”

James levelled him with a long stare. “I’ve kept an eye on him all holiday. I’m starting to think I ought to have been keeping an eye on _you_ . At least you kept _my_ letters.” And Sirius had been suspiciously absent in every one of them. In spite of what Lily had to say, James had _tact_ when it mattered, and his friends mattered the most to him in the entire world since he’d first come to Hogwarts. “They’ve already been nicked. We put them in our compartment, and all your shite. I won’t have it. We’ve ridden the train together every year.”

Caught off-guard, Remus blinked at James, so befuddled it was enough to make one wonder how he ever managed the marks he did, never mind making Prefect. “You...what?” he asked eloquently. “Oh. Uh. Alright then. I guess I’ll...right. Guess I’ll see you back in the compartment.” He’d intended to slink off to whatever compartment Severus had found, but James had clearly taken that idea right off the table. If Sirius Black was the unstoppable force, Remus mused, then James Potter was the immovable object, and he thanked all the stars in the sky that he had someone so steady on his side.

James stuck his nose in the air. “Too right you will, Lupin. All the way at the end on the left, like a good chap. Peter’s in there trying to eat literally all of them, so hurry on.” James waited and he watched until Remus complied, then he faced the door of the loo and waited some more.

Peter was so excited to see Remus that he gave over more Chocolate Frogs than Remus had purchased and regaled him with tales of the summer hols: the beaches, the general hooliganry, the birds. Sirius had apparently discovered snogging in a way Peter found fascinating but sounded reckless, even dangerous by his telling. 

Remus was smiling again. Peter had always been the sunniest of them; his exuberance was infectious, and after a while, Remus found himself responding. He even laughed, something he hadn’t done in _months_ . When the other Marauders finally returned, he was in the process of asking if James had managed to forget Lily Evans long enough to pull even a single bird, and how many of them he’d called by her name. It felt almost _normal_.

It was nearly an hour before James and Sirius came back to the compartment. Sirius was almost skeletal compared to his usual self, and he kept his eyes on the ground as he sat next to the window. Remus’ laughter died away the instant he caught sight of Sirius. _Pale, hollow-eyed, down at least a stone_...

“There’s a good lad,” James tutted, even as Sirius closed his eyes and slept like he hadn’t in months. Perhaps he hadn’t.

Once Sirius had fallen asleep, Remus joined back in with the conversation, albeit a bit more subdued. His gaze strayed to Sirius, constantly checking on him. 

Peter, on the other hand, could not be contained, and Remus winced when he began a loud, lofty retelling of a hazy summer day spent on the beach. James himself had pulled, by Peter’s count, exactly four girls and called _all_ of them Lily. James was more than happy to own up to it, like it was a point of pride. They both shushed Peter when Sirius stirred, but Sirius didn’t wake until the train began to slow. 

He opened his eyes, heavy and disoriented, and settled them on Remus. Remus didn’t need Legilimency to read the silent plea there. He flushed and turned quickly away.

“We’re home, mate, look,” James said softly, nudging Sirius with his elbow. “We’ll start the year off proper, yeah? I’ve got some plans. Some skulduggery. Some nonsense. We’re going to start first thing in the morning. I know what you’re thinking, Lupin, and I won’t have it. You’re thinking we need to be in—wotsit. NEWT-levels. But no, lads. _No_. We will ruin some lives. Tomorrow’s the day.”

James had him right pegged too: he was already opening his mouth to argue when he was shut right down, and Remus could do nothing but give him a look that was one part aggravation and two parts affection. The expression was a permanent fixture on his face around the other Marauders, and it was the first taste of _home_ he’d had since April. “Because _that’s_ what’ll get Evans’ attention this term,” he drawled. “‘That Potter,’ she’ll say. ‘His marks are abysmal, but he’s got some _nonsense_. Isn’t he just ace?’”

Sirius stared blankly at the reflection of himself in the glass, rubbing his chin then rubbing it again, and pulling his hand back to scowl at it as though some skin had come off. Stubble. He had _stubble_. The realisation did something queer to Remus’ stomach; he didn’t even realize he was staring at it until Peter elbowed him and asked what was wrong with Black’s face.

_I guess we’re all getting older, in spite of everything._

Sirius stood rather abruptly for someone who might have been mistaken for a gloomy statue ten minutes prior, steadying himself as the train came to its final stop. He offered Remus a hand to help him up. 

Remus’ embarrassment wasn’t helped _at all_ by the offering of Sirius’ hand, but he took it anyway. He was still furious with him, of course, but he could muster his English manners. On his feet, he blinked as he found himself looking _down_ at Sirius for the first time in his life; Sirius, similarly shocked, stared up at him.

“Evans is mad for me, Lupin. She just doesn’t realize it yet. It’s coming, mark my words. I swear I’ll have her locked down by Christmas.” Ah, at it again with renewed purpose, because James had glimpsed her in her compartment and she’d thrown a Pumpkin Pasty at his head. And if that wasn’t love, what was? Remus was vaguely aware of the chatter, but he was frozen in place.

He couldn’t bear to break the connection yet. His mind buzzed with memories of the previous spring, of The Incident and the colossal fallout that followed, but his fingers were warm where Sirius clasped them and his heart thudded against his ribs and he was quite sure he’d never realized how many different shades of grey were in Sirius’ eyes before. The mismatch between his head and his body was enough to make him ill, and in the end, he broke contact first, albeit gently. 

“Christmas, eh?” he finally answered, far too late and with slightly forced levity. “Alright, gents, you heard the man. He’ll pull Lily Evans by Christmas. What are the stakes on this wager?” They weren’t even listening, the bastards.

Sirius turned away from him, clearing his throat and reaching for an overhead trunk. “You might’ve woken me for lunch. I’m starving, Potter. I’m not going to make it through the Sorting.”

They clambered off the train and onto the station platform in a rush; it was raining in Hogsmeade, and the carriages were lined up, waiting for students. “Hell, I forgot something,” Sirius growled. “You three carry on. I’ll be up in a mo’.” He peeled away. 

Remus felt hot, and his skin itched like it was suddenly a size too small for his body. It was a sensation he usually associated with the approach of the moon, but it was still a week out. Part of him was grateful when Sirius briefly abandoned them, because the moment he stepped away, Remus felt like he could breathe again, as though Sirius had sucked away all the oxygen by existing in his orbit.

It was just stress, Remus told himself as he climbed into one of the carriages alongside James and Peter. He’d been miserable and missing a piece of himself since the spring. This was the first time all the Marauders had been together in three months, and there was that near blow-up on the platform, and he hadn’t forgiven Sirius for The Incident. No wonder he was tense and wanting to crawl out of his own skin. With a heavy sigh, Remus dropped his head back against the carriage seat and closed his eyes.

It was, to Sirius’ great disdain and ultimate dumb luck, a fruitless effort to seek out Snape. He searched until all the carriages were gone and he had to begin the slow trudge his way to the castle alone, on foot, in the rain. Wasn’t that the way? Wasn’t _all_ of this the way? He remembered the way his stomach had lurched when Lupin stood, hand-in-hand, and he shook his wet head. He was happy to see his friend even if they were fighting, even if Remus Lupin fucking _hated_ him.

Sometimes, the world really was too much for a sixteen-year-old boy, and so, alone in the rain and in the mud, he cast a furtive eye around himself and melted down. Not emotionally, mind—he literally melted. Skin to fur, nose to snout, and he let the pure, unbridled joy of _dogdogdog_ take him to the castle. It was so much easier to think—or not think, as it were—as a dog. 

It was the first thing he learned over the summer when they all first managed it in James’ bedroom. The world was so much simpler. There were no Blacks, no werewolves, no anything but _smell_ and _love_ and _fleas_. So, Sirius ran, alone in the rain, on all fours to the one place he really considered home, as though someone whistled for him to come in.

He needed to get his shit together, or he was never going to get Remus to talk to him again. It would be forever fucked, and that would be entirely his fault. Moping and feeling sorry for himself wasn’t the way to win anyone over, much less an angry Remus Lupin.

The longer he ran, the more the unbridled joy of being a dog wicked at the edges of his mind. It wormed its way in and lessened the pervasive anger and self-loathing, lightening his tension until he felt that he could be a _friend_ again, at least for one night. He would march into the Great Hall, sit down, and revel in the fact that he had his best mates all around him for as long as he could keep his head up.

By the time he reached the castle and transfigured himself back, he felt human enough to give acting normal a go. _Like everything’s just fine._

When he showed up at the feast, spelled-dry, he budged in next to James at the Gryffindor table in considerably lighter spirits and reeking of wet fur. James sniffed him and gave him a significant look, but Sirius only tucked into the overflowing feast as though he hadn’t eaten in months. “Missed the Sorting,” James said.

Sirius squared his shoulders and smiled through his carrots. “Riveting stuff, that. Talking hats and bats and all. Sorry I missed it.” He swallowed and began to cut off a large chunk of pot roast, taking the rarest cut he could scavenge. “Good crop, then? Anyone worth looking into? We could use a protégé, pass on the legacy before we come into our grey hairs.”

He didn’t really care about the First Years, but Remus was paying attention to him. Getting him to listen to anything he said had been an impossible task at the end of spring term, and it deepened Sirius’ resolve to act like everything was normal.

James cast a glance down the table at the new Gryffindors. “Too early to say. Maybe we can round out the group, you know? One of them might be a manticore in disguise,” he said with a mouthful of mince. “You reek. Literally the worst thing I’ve ever smelled, and I’ve lived with you for _years_. The smells could fill a tome. Remus could spend the whole of his life cataloguing your odours, with an index.”

Peter, seated next to Remus, paused in his fantastic impression of a Muggle vacuum. “James pulled a bird this summer who smelled like mothballs.”

“She did _not_.”

“She did so. He called her Lily, too, so apparently he thinks Lily smells like mothballs,” Sirius piped in. “I heard your little wager prompt on the train, Lupin. I bet ten Galleons I lose my virginity before Evans even calls James by his first name with something less than acid.”

“You don’t have ten Galleons,” Peter said helpfully. He was, unfortunately, correct; Sirius didn’t have two Sickles to rub together outside of the pocket money given him by the Potters. He lobbed a roll at Peter’s face.

“‘ _Lose your virginity_ ,’ Black, Merlin’s _beard,_ you are a vagina,” James spat. “No one in their right mind is going to put a leg over on you.”

“Said bird’s sanity is not in the wager. Maybe I like them mad. I must, look at this fucking lot.” Some of the light came back into Sirius’ eyes. “Not that I like you tossers.”

“Mothballs, James?” Remus echoed, and Sirius could have crowed. “Were you really _that_ hard up, or are your standards just that low? Because, mate, if that’s the case, I think you need to forget this whole Evans thing and aim for someone more your speed. Maybe a Midgen.” Grinning, he gestured to the pair of twins down the table: mousey, soft-faced girls, both of them suffering terrible cases of spots not only on their faces but also, the Marauders had it on good authority, their backs as well.

“Oy, you’re one to talk about spots, Remus,” James snipped. “Right on your chin. Blooming like a Bludger. Want me to get my bat? Maybe it’ll kill someone, land in Slughorn’s tea and then we’ll _all_ get Slug Club invites.”

“I reckon even Peter’ll lose _his_ virginity before the old boy gives Evans up,” Sirius said, watching James morosely as he mooned at Lily from down the table. She was decidedly not looking in their direction in favour of stuffing her face with potatoes.

“Why do you suppose I haven’t already?” Peter groused, and he stuck his nose in the air. “It’s not like I didn’t pull this summer; none of you twats asked me about it, did you? Peter this, Peter that, well, _Peter_ got farther along than either of you, and _I_ would wager ten Galleons on _that_.”

James and Sirius turned to stare at Peter. “With _whom_?” James spluttered. Sirius turned to Remus, then, visibly boggled.

Remus’ eyes widened as he met Sirius’ gobsmacked stare with one of his own. “I’m sorry, Pete, I seem to have gone a little deaf in my old age. I thought I heard you say you got _how_ far?” He turned his wide, green-eyed gape on their friend. “And James and Sirius didn’t _know_?” 

Peter drew himself to his greatest height, mouth curling into the biggest, stupidest grin he could manage. “Got under her skirts, didn’t I? The Irish girl, last week. Wossname. Doesn’t matter, I think; she certainly knew _mine_.”

“You are _vile_ .” Lily, having risen from her seat to talk to the first years, had stopped behind them. James nearly slid off his chair, and Sirius bravely braced him. “Peter, I might have expected better of _you_ . And _Remus_ .” She frowned severely at him. “Prefect duties, Remus. Let’s save your poor ears from tales of _skirts_ and _birds_ , all no doubt utter nonsense.” She gestured for him to follow her. “Come on. And why does Black look like he’s been rolling in the mud?”

Sirius’ ears grew hot as Lily sniffed in his direction and pulled a face. “Stinks,” she said unpleasantly. If there was one person on the planet who could make any of them go red all over, it was Lily Evans. 

Coughing, Remus ducked his head and offered his fellow Marauders a sheepish grin and a ‘what are you gonna do’ sort of shrug before he stood to join her. “He probably has been,” he said casually, well-within earshot. “He’s so out of ideas of how to draw attention to himself, now he’s resorting to mud and _walking_ to the castle, just to make people talk.” 

“Don’t give him the password to the Prefect’s bath this year. I can always tell when he’s been in there, Remus, he leaves...things.”

The further they got from the others, the more her shoulders eased in Potter’s staring wake, and before they got to the first years, she turned to face him. There was something almost soft about it, the way she gazed up at him, all green and red and freckles. Whatever she said, Sirius could not hear, and she touched one of the scars across his cheek.

James’ jaw hit the table. Sirius tensed. Peter leaned forward. “...What’s all this, then?”

Remus shrugged casually at her; when he spoke, it was loud enough for them to hear. “What can I say? Rough holiday; Black’s a biter.”

Lily wrinkled her nose, voice raised. “I wouldn’t have guessed a biter, if I’m honest. I’d have thought he was more of a...well, he looks like he licks, right? I’ve seen him at it. Tongues in ears. He and Potter will realize any day that they’re in love, I think. I personally can’t wait. Maybe once Potter stops his creepy helicopter act with everyone I _happen_ to like, I can finally get on and have a boyfriend.” 

She rolled her eyes at him and stepped, quite intentionally, on his foot. And then, sure as anything, in front of Dumbledore and everybody, she glanced right at Potter, then kissed Remus on the cheek. “Come along, then. First years, and all that.”

Sirius had to physically restrain James from leaping up. “She’s just trying to rile you, mate,” he yelped, though something about the way Lily looked at Remus...well, that wasn’t her riling face. Sirius didn’t understand why he was riled, either. Righteous indignation for his friend.

“Ouch! What?” Poor Remus was left standing there like a Stupefied troll as Lily swept away in that elegant yet imperious way of hers. The befuddled werewolf turned between her and the Marauders, as though they would have any answers, before joining in the herding of the First Years.

James was apoplectic for hours.

The feast was always a sure-fire sleeping draught for the entire student body, so by the time curfew rolled around, most students were already in their dorm rooms, catching up and laughing and letting sleep take them over.

Not Sirius. He started off in the dorm room, sure, but then curfew hit and Remus didn’t come in. 

Sirius remembered the curve of Snape’s mouth and the way he’d looked at Remus on the platform as though he was _allowed_ to look at _any_ of them like that, as though he was allowed to look at _Remus_ like that. 

Remus, who he’d threatened to have expelled, who he’d tried to make a murderer, whose life he’d tried to ruin. 

What if he was out with Snape _right then_?

He hurtled down the stairs from the dormitory, practically tumbling arse over teakettle into the common room. It was so empty that he almost missed Remus in his hurricane track for the portrait hole; instead, he smelled him all at once, like spring rain: petrichor and green and warm. 

He found him napping on the couch, _their_ couch, and longed so suddenly and fiercely to leap on him again. For years, that was it, wasn’t it? Friends punched it out and fought it out then came up laughing and more deeply bonded. They’d been fighting for _months_. When was it going to get better?

He didn’t jump on Remus, though. He walked right behind him and, biting his lip, slid his fingers into Remus’ hair, nails on his scalp. “Mate,” he said quietly. “Come on. First night traditions and all that. I’ve got grass.”

Remus shifted fitfully under his hand, moaning softly as Sirius’ nails dug in. “Huh? Sirius?” His eyes opened, and immediately his cheeks flamed red as he jerked away from the hand. He cleared his throat and stammered, “T-trying to get back in my good graces? It’ll have to be some _really_ good herb, Sirius. I’m still furious with you.”

Well. _That_ sound was unexpected. Sirius froze in place, looking for once in his life like the sixteen-year-old boy he was. He gaped down at Remus, shell-shocked, before he snapped back to himself and rubbed the back of his own neck. “No—I mean, _yes_ , but—it’s first night, Remus. I’m not asking you to...you know. You don’t have to talk to me or anything. The lads, you know. They didn’t have anything to do with it, alright? It was just me. Just me. Don’t be mad at them. You can hate me. You _do_ hate me, I reckon, but James and Pete are your mates, too.” 

He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth then gestured towards the stairs. “It _is_ good herb, and we brought loads. Can’t make it through without you, mate. Here.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket and slipped a perfectly-rolled, signature Black spliff into Remus’ hand. “Don’t have to tell you, but the moon's in a week. You should relax with us first, yeah? You don’t have to talk to me.”

“I _should_ hate you,” Remus acknowledged, and that was significant. He gave Sirius a long look, a patented _Remus_ look; finally, he stood, taking the peace offering and tucking it behind his ear. Remus Lupin, Sixth Year Prefect, Hophead. He gestured for Sirius to lead the way. 

Sirius didn’t say a word; he was young and lost and possessed all the Black abilities of de-escalation: that was to say, he had none. When Remus fell in-step behind him, he muttered a prayer of gratitude to the fucking gods and founders that Remus hadn’t broken his nose. 

James and Peter were waiting for them, of course, and the other boys of their year were mostly resigned to this yearly ritual and so left them to it. Remus eyed James sideways. “So, Black tells me you got some really good stuff this year,” Remus said, sitting on the bed next to Peter. “And there’s apparently ‘loads’ of it.”

James’ head shot up from the open window, and he reached under his bed and brought forth a bulging, skunky sack. “This isn’t the only one, Lupin, so don’t plan on Outstanding NEWTs, yeah? Come on. You’ve got one under your bed, too. We all have, even poor Frank. Hit the jackpot.” 

Peter flung his arm around Remus’ middle and leaned into his shoulder, his own spliff burning between his fingers. “So, let’s hear all about _your_ summer.” 

Sirius flopped next to the window and lit up, stretching his legs. He had taken a shower much to everyone's gratitude, but the heat had exhausted him. 

This was exactly what he needed, even if it only lasted for one night.

* * *

_A photograph snapped of Sirius Black, age 16, in a haze of First Night smoke. 1 September, 1976_

_Peter Pettigrew going in for the kill. 1 September, 1976_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sirius Black is written by Penwyn.  
> Remus Lupin is written by PocketFox.  
> Penwyn is your mediocre fanartist and playlist curator.


	2. Part 2: Born to Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter caring about his friends, and the Marauders' First Ride.  
> Four class schedules, four journal entries, one series of notes passed in class, and one unanswered letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Spotify Playlist for this Chapter](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2CZD6NYM5g2ZimrWH4vElO?si=rmiSTx-9QzShVg-ZYaLbng)

* * *

_“Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.”_

_― Mark Twain_

* * *

_Four class schedules for the Autumn Term of 1976, as written by their respective attendees:_

* * *

_3 September, 1976_

“The instructor’s a bit mental, don’t you think?” James, loud as ever, flung his arm so abruptly around Peter’s shoulders that Peter nearly fell over; he stumbled and winced under the force of it.

“Mental’s right,” he grumbled. “I’m never going to manage apparition. I feel like a Squib.”

James laughed. “Nah, you’ll get it, Pete. You always get it in the end. Was that your last for the day? I’ve got McGonagall at one.”

“That’s the last of it, thank Merlin, because Charms is going to keep me in the books all weekend. Didn’t think McGonagall wanted me, to be honest, so I just dropped it.”

James looked up and down the corridor to make sure no one was near enough to hear him, then gave Peter a hard shove. “You’re a fucking Animagus, and you think she doesn’t want you in her class? You’re a whiz at Transfiguration. I don’t get you, Pete.”

Peter winced again and pulled out from under James’ arm. “It takes me longer to get stuff than you, alright? I’m not going to be an Auror or anything; I don’t _need_ Transfiguration anymore. Clearly, I have it locked down,” he said. “I don’t want to spend the next two years trying to play catch-up to the rest of you. Let me enjoy some downtime.”

“Fine, fine. Just wish you wouldn’t put yourself down, mate. Let’s get lunch.”

Peter felt some of the weight come off his shoulders as he fell in with James in the direction of the Great Hall, and he couldn’t help smiling to himself. James always knew just what to say to make him feel better about being next to useless. It was _true_ , he _was_ good at Transfiguration. He was also good at lots of other things, though, like keeping the peace with his friends and helping the first years get around; he wanted to focus more on being a good person, not a good student, so his class schedule was light. Instead of slaving over textbooks, he’d spend his last two years mastering the classes he liked best and spending all the time he could with the Marauders.

He was no fool, after all. He knew that things would eventually be different. They would graduate, get jobs, get married, and they would only have the bonds they forged _now_ to get them through. He wanted these to be the best years of his life, and NEWT-level Arithmancy and Ancient Runes and Transfiguration didn’t fit into that equation.

The whole issue with Remus finally seemed to be letting up, thank Merlin. He still wasn’t talking to Sirius (that Peter knew), but at least they were all spending some time together again. When he sat down to lunch with James, Remus was there, and he laughed when Peter told him about the girl he’d been seeing over the summer.

He pretended that she hadn’t meant anything, but he had to admit: it felt good to be the first one of his friends to get beyond second base. He’d spent much of the summer with her even though she was a Muggle; he wondered if he could send her a letter through the Muggle post somehow. Maybe he could see her again over the Christmas hols. 

She didn’t care how good a wizard he was. She just liked his eyes and laughed at all his jokes, and best of all, she got on famously with James and Sirius. 

“You’re going to have to tell James how to do it,” Remus said, picking at his sandwich. “He needs all the help he can get. Mind, I don’t want to lose the wager, but it’s getting sad, don’t you think?”

Peter drew himself up in his seat and raised a glass of pumpkin juice in James’ direction. “And take away the free entertainment? You can’t pay for drama like this, Remus. I think Lily might actually do him harm this year if he keeps at it.”

But, he would help. Of course he would help, because he had the _time_ and more, he wanted his friends to be happy. There was nothing in the world more important to Peter Pettigrew than his three best friends and their happiness.

* * *

_4 September, 1976_

Four days until the Big Reveal, and I’m so excited I could shit myself.

Remus is honestly going to lose it. This is going to be huge. The fact that we’ve kept this secret for so long is a miracle and a half. I can’t wait to see the look on his face the next morning when we’re all ourselves again and he realises what we’ve done. 

Peter is on fire about it, so much that I’m afraid he’s going to spill the beans. Sirius freaked out on him this morning about it, so hopefully he keeps it in his pants.

Sirius is a nervous wreck, not that he’d ever admit it. It feels like there’s been this big build-up, with everything that’s gone wrong.

The lad needs a win. Peter and I agreed to let him be the one to stay in the Shrieking Shack with Remus after.

I’m worried about Sirius, if I’m honest. He’s not his usual self. I mean, he hasn’t been since he ran away, and his mood has been (forgive me) black as hell since the whole letter about him getting disowned came, but he’s downright neurotic about the moon going well. He’s spent a lot of time as a dog to prepare, just going insane on the grounds when no one’s around.

Wish they’d just make up already. I’m tired of everything being fucked.

BUT GOOD NEWS. LILY NOTICED, TOO. She sat down with Sirius last night and made him help her with Charms, and I overheard her ask how he was doing. Any Marauder attention from Lily is good. Sirius is on notice to build rapport so he can put me in her good graces.

Little does she know how I avenge her honour. Operation: Make Snivellus Regret Being Born Part 76 is in motion. He knows why we’re doing it. He knows what he did. And we’re not going to let up. Sirius has been hot on his heels all week and it is glorious.

If I wasn’t breaking about a hundred laws, I’d tell Lily I’ve managed to become an Animagus. Who’s the berk now, I’d say, and then I’d let her on my back and we would ride off into the sunset together and have ten thousand little antlered babies.

A man can dream, and these dreams are big.

_James_

* * *

_7 September, 1976_

_Angrily scribbled in Sirius Black’s journal._

Evans is talking to us more, which is nice and all, but she doesn’t quite fill the void if you know what I mean. James is driving me to drink. He cannot get over the fact that she has spoken to us in a group no less than three times since the start of term. She hasn’t even looked at him, really, because he’s a complete berk. But she talks to me and Peter sometimes.

I think she feels the betrayal somehow.

Because Lupin is faffing about with Snivellus for real, I think, and that’s fucking with my head so spectacularly that it’s a wonder I can breathe.

I have pranked him no less than ten times since the start of term. I’ve hexed him with boils, hidden Dungbombs in his pants drawer, and spelled his tie to sing the praises of McGonagall’s bosom in the middle of Transfiguration. I have turned him green, hexed his hair so greasy that he was _actually dripping_ on the lunch table, and I’ve hexed his best robes to unravel any time his mind wanders from his studies.

I’ll hex his hands off next, because I saw him clap Remus on the shoulder one day after class and I want him dead.

I want him fucking dead.

I’ve already had a detention (for the tie incident), and it was well worth it.

We have perfected The Secret. We worked Really Hard on The Secret, and thank _fuck_ because I think it’s my only hope of ever getting Remus to talk to me again. If it doesn’t work, I’ll just toss myself off the Astronomy Tower during lessons and no one will wonder why.

_Sirius_

* * *

_7 September, 1976_

_A note from Peter Pettigrew to James Potter._

Can I ride in your antlers? I don’t think he would even notice if he ate me.

_A note from James Potter to Peter Pettigrew, bounced off the side of his head._

I don’t know if he would even notice eating me. If we die, we die together. Don’t ever say I never did anything for you.

_A note from a noticeably pale Peter Pettigrew to a nonchalant James Potter._

Cheers. I appreciate it. Really.

_A note from James Potter to Peter Pettigrew, given with a hearty clap on the back._

Hold the applause until we make it back alive, mate.

* * *

_8 September, 1976_

The first week of school was exactly what a devastated Sirius needed for his poor, young soul. He was back amongst friends, his _family_ , and somehow everything went down easier when surrounded by Gryffindor red and gold. Maybe Remus wasn’t exactly talking to him, and maybe they kept accidentally catching one another’s eye and turning away, but overall he was feeling better. The food helped, too. He was going to go soft ‘round the middle if he kept it up too long. 

Besides, Sirius Black had a plan to get Remus to talk to him again, and it was a good one. It was a _big_ one. He didn’t even press when Remus took up extra Prefect patrols or sometimes didn’t show up when they expected him to. The Marauders had their plan in motion, and they were _not_ telling, not even Peter, and that was a miracle in of itself. Once classes ended on the eighth of September, they even did their standard line-up, waiting to walk Remus down to the Willow as though nothing was up whatsoever. As soon as Remus was through the tunnel, James, Sirius, and Peter slipped not back into the castle, but into the forest.

“This is it,” Sirius said. “We’ve all got a good handle on ourselves now, so let’s see how he takes it. We go to the end of the tunnel, let him get a smell of us, and see if he goes feral or if we’ve been right all along. It’s all been leading up to this, yeah?” 

James nervously shuffled his feet. “Still reckon we should have waited. He’s been off, I’m telling you. You’re big, but you’re not that big. Me and Pete are prey animals, we can’t do shit. It’s—it’s going to be you who sorts it if it goes wrong. You ready to do that?”

Sirius watched the last rays of light vanish over the trees, and he fell to all fours. “I’ve been ready to beat the shit out of Remus Lupin for months.” Then, he couldn’t speak anymore. He watched as James and Peter changed, and as soon as Peter prodded the knot on the tree (harder than in theory), they ran to the end of the tunnel. Once they reached the other side of the door, they waited.

Nothing but silence awaited them on the other side of the door, and Sirius lay down to wait for the full moon to rise over Scotland. Remus once told him that he didn’t need to see the moon to know when it was rising; part of his affliction was an almost preternatural ability to _sense_ the moon’s presence. 

The cry came as the moon crawled above the horizon to finally appear in full, bathing the landscape in silvery light. The sturdy door protected them from actually seeing the transformation, but hearing it was bad enough. The cracking of reshaping bones and Remus’ heavy, agonized breathing filtered through, occasionally interspersed with the smallest sob. It seemed to go on forever, but at last, there was silence, broken only by a panting far heavier than expected by the typically lanky boy.

The three boys were frozen for the entire process. Somehow, Sirius had never wondered what the transformation was like going in; it was always the coming out that he imagined, the reshaping of his best friend. Remus could never turn into anything but Remus, but the werewolf could turn into Remus, or something. It wasn’t logical, but it _was_ an oversight. He did not want to listen, but he did. Nose at the door, hoping to see something beneath it and unable, he heard every broken bone, every pathetic wail, every fleshy rip, and then—nothing but snuffling breaths under the door. 

Sirius turned his head to take stock of James and Peter: James, perfectly still with Peter in his antlers, slowly lowered his head. _You have to do it. We’re prey._ They didn’t need to be able to speak for Sirius to understand. 

He jerked a paw down the tunnel. _Get back. Far._ As soon as they were far enough to make an escape should it be necessary, Sirius turned back to the door and sniffed the crack, letting the dog take over. Assess the situation. Read the room, as it were. Remus smelled weird, but he still smelled like Remus under fur and blood. 

He lifted a paw, and he gently scratched the door. Just once. Then, he barked.

Remus began to scratch desperately at the door, even dropping down onto one shoulder as though he could claw the crack wider. His sniffs and snuffles were interspersed with eager whines now, and his tail wagged. The door shook in its frame under the assault of his massive paws, but it didn’t give.

Sirius was _so_ careful, really. He was as careful as he had ever been about anything in his entire life, because one false move would prove to be fatal or otherwise catastrophic in ways he could not imagine. He had not accompanied James at the end of the last year, had never been on the other side of the door while the werewolf howled and screamed on the other side of it, but—well, Remus wasn’t exactly howling, was he? 

He sounded like he was begging. 

Sirius looked over the door in the dim light; naturally, it only went one way, and that was _in_ , so Remus could not push it open. The frame was much too strong for pushing out, built into the very earth and likely spanning the entire shack instead of a separable piece. Sirius eyed the latch, the bar across the door, then stood on his back legs to knock the bar out of the slot. And then Sirius shoved the door inward and waited, head low.

The werewolf scrambled out of the way when the door came flying open, but instead of making an instant break for freedom, he simply stood there and looked.

The minute the door swung open and Sirius saw Remus—the beast _within_ Remus—staring him full in the face, he almost turned and ran. No amount of Care of Magical Creatures could prepare a boy for facing down a fully-grown werewolf. Sure, he knew the signs: the tail, the eyes, the snout. But theory was nothing in the face of practice, and Sirius was not a big enough dog to take down a werewolf if he needed to, not even when that werewolf was one of his best friends. 

The dark creature’s eyes, a shade of green never seen on normal wolves, regarded the three in the tunnel with quiet interest. His tail wagged, once, and he let out a low, welcoming, “Bhf.”

Sirius’ hackles lowered with the tail wag. He stepped a cautious paw into the Shack and did not meet those green eyes, extending his neck, sniffing. Touching noses. 

The dog wanted to _play_ . His tail wagged once, twice, and he sank into a play bow. _Remus. Remus. Don’t be angry with me, Remus._

Remus returned Sirius’ sniff of greeting, then stepped back when the dog dropped into his inviting bow. At first, he looked confused, posture tense; then, with another low sound, Remus mirrored Sirius’ pose, holding it with his tail arched over his back and wagging slowly. 

Then, he pounced: without ripping claws and tearing teeth, only huge paws that tumbled Sirius and a soft mouth that chewed on one of his ears. 

_Play!_

So complete was Sirius’ relief at the slowly-returned bow that any semblance of _Sirius Black_ vanished the moment that the wolf was on him. He let loose a wild, happy bark and went flying, knocked off his feet and ear chewed. He barked again and rolled, wrestling, all long Irish Wolfhound legs and thumping tail and kicking paws. The scuffle attracted the stag with his passenger, tense and nervous in the way only deer and rats could be: twitchy and ready to run. 

Sirius was ready to run. He wrestled himself free and bounded around the shack in a circle, inviting, then dashed into the tunnel. _Earth! Worms! Bugs! Snakes! Trees! Bones! PlayplayPLAY_ . He begged to be followed, because Sirius Black knew this was _dangerous_ and the dog didn’t know the meaning of danger.

Remus extended his nose and sniffed at them, but he simply offered them a wag of his tail before bounding after Sirius. He explored every last twig and rock and worm in the tunnel, each new scent more fascinating than the last. He snuffled along the earthen path, tail arched over his back in an eager question mark, stubbornly refusing any and all entreaties to _hurry up_.

And oh, how very many smells there were. Sirius, full of mad energy, charged up and down the tunnel while Remus slowly made his way, leaving no stone unturned. The wolfhound was too much of an idiot (and frankly, too new as a dog in general) to control his limbs to the best of his ability. Really, it was what identified him as _Sirius_ , the pratfalls, the slamming into walls. He found one of Remus’ sticks equally fascinating, and he sniffed it nose-to-nose. He licked Remus’ face, then was off like a shot. 

James was the cautious one, ten feet behind and watchful. He was beautiful, really, and as serene as a stag could be next to a potential predator. 

Sirius rolled in the dirt, tail waving a fan-shape into it, and eyed Remus upside down. The night was _theirs_. No fighting, no hurts, no betrayal. Just three stupid boys and the Dark Creature they loved enough to defy the limits of possibility.

At last, Remus and his entourage reached the end of the tunnel and its enthusiastic guardian. The werewolf stopped, head thrust out of the entrance, and for a while simply sniffed and stared, seemingly overwhelmed by a whole _world_ of new scents that presented itself. It was a good thing, too, because he might have tried to dart right out and straight into the flailing limbs of the Whomping Willow before Peter had a chance to paralyze the thing again. 

Sirius’ endless exuberance that coaxed Remus out into the moonlight, and the second his paws hit the grass, he was off like a shot. Surrounded by his friends, and with their calming scents in his nose, the werewolf instead veered towards the safety and privacy of the Forbidden Forest.

There was no question of whether or not they would follow. The moment they all broke free of the earth, pouring into the forest, the world became something entirely new and entirely else. Sirius felt invincible. He could smell _everything_ , every tree, every creature within the forest. He smelled unicorns and thestrals, centaurs and what might even have been a dragon somewhere deep in the depths. He ate a mole. He found a stick so large that when he tried to run it back to his friends, he nearly broke his neck getting caught between two trees. There was an impromptu game of hide and seek with Peter in a rotted log, and at one point Remus fell in a pile of bracken and was absolutely _delighted_ by it, and then he and Sirius flushed a rabbit and had an absolutely grand old time failing to catch it. 

He was never more than five steps from Remus, not once. Not when they ran from a falling tree (James’ antlers were itchy), not when he nearly died a stick-related death, and not even when the long night began to ease in the early hours of dawn. Sirius knew that Pomfrey fetched Remus every moon after sunrise, and that they would have to go back. He turned to face the wolf and nuzzled, panting. _It is nearly morning_.

It was almost a shame, the end of a romp by leading the werewolf back to the Shrieking Shack, waiting for the moon to set as Remus sat morosely in the centre of the room. But as the sun began to rise and they got Remus back into the Shack, Sirius found that he was utterly exhausted. Werewolves had strength and endurance giant dogs did not possess, and so when they slipped back into the Shack, Sirius lay down next to Remus. James and Peter did not come in; someone had to put the bar back on the door so they could avoid suspicion. 

Sirius wondered if he should leave, if he should just eagerly wait for Pomfrey at the end of the tunnel instead of under the Invisibility Cloak they’d snatched from the tunnel opening on their way in. But someone had to be there to explain before Remus was drugged, before he could be convinced that his friends had not actually done this for _him_. He couldn’t do that until Remus was Remus again. 

He _had_ to be the one to do it. It was his one chance.

As the moon sank behind the trees at last, and Remus’ true mind finally started to reassert itself, he shoved his head against Sirius, trying to push him towards the shack’s door. Agitated, he began to pant again, strained this time, and his whimpers were plaintive and pathetic. He stood, head down and shoulders hunched, as a shudder ran through him from nose to tail. 

But Sirius did not go.

Remus groaned as pain clutched his insides like rusty claws, while his own dug into the floor. His body twisted and contorted in ways that should have been impossible, limbs shortening and fur vanishing, giant fangs shrinking into small human teeth and terrible claws blunting into short human nails. Sirius got up as well and began to pace around him, not predatory but pack-protective, as though something might leap out at them from nowhere and present a threat. 

The threat was all Remus, the blood in his veins, and the way, pounding, that blood seized hold of him and broke him into a thousand pieces. Had Sirius been human at the time, he would have thrown up. Instead, he stood sentinel. _You are not alone, Remus Lupin._

It seemed to go on forever until Remus, naked and trembling and drained, was left in a human heap on the floor.

  
  


When the change was over and Remus lay in a boneless pile of misery on the floor, Sirius approached slowly, nosing under one of his hands. The dog licked his palm, then slid underneath his arm to give him all the warmth he had to spare. He nosed up under his chin, licked his face, and huffed (with horrible breath).

Something many didn’t know about werewolves was that, while they didn’t retain their conscious minds during their transformations, they still remembered everything. So, when Remus felt the big black dog nudging his hand and crawling under his arm, he reacted immediately, clutching at the dog’s thick fur and hugging him weakly. “Sirius?” His voice was rough, and his mouth felt as dry and parched as the Sahara. 

He licked his lips, but his tongue was dry too, and offered no relief. “Sirius...are you a...dog? Why are you a dog…?” For a few moments, at least, everything was forgotten and forgiven. All Remus knew, all he cared about, was that, somehow, Sirius was here.

Then, Sirius really was there. All at once, no breaking bones, no screaming, no agony whatsoever: the transformation from dog to boy was almost instant, and Remus found himself with arms full of a teenaged boy in a soft t-shirt and hair tangled with forest detritus. He was thrilled that James and Peter had elected to stay outside because the last thing he wanted was to be seen wrapped up in Sirius Black on the dusty floor of the Shrieking Shack.

He braced himself for the apology he knew was coming. For the time being, it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable in the slightest for Remus to curl up in Sirius’ arms and soak up his warmth and comfort. He found his wits coming back to him far more quickly than usual, and he knew he had the presence of his friends to thank for that. He was exhausted and sore from the transformation, of course, but there were no new wounds anywhere on his body, and his mind felt clearer than it ever had after a full moon. It was mind-boggling. 

Sirius pressed his forehead to Remus’, as he had every single time he was being serious and sincere since they were eleven years old. “That was the most illegal thing I have ever done,” he whispered gravely. “That we have ever done. For years we worked on it, and—Remus, I can’t bear this another second.”

“You are insane,” Remus rasped. “You are utterly and completely mad, Sirius Black. What if you’d been caught? What if I’d attacked you?” But it was obvious from his tone of voice that this was normal Remus fussing, without any real ire behind it. Somehow his hands found their way into Sirius’ hair and twisted in the strands, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. “Merlin’s beard, only you could have come with such a barmy idea.” He gave Sirius’ head a little shake. “Thank you.”

Sirius grinned the kind of grin he only ever managed when he _was_ being insane about something and he knew it. He positively beamed at Remus, so proud of himself that he looked like he might start howling. “I wasn’t caught, was I? And you didn’t. So...no harm done, I think,” he said, voice soft with exhaustion. 

“We’re the fucking Marauders, aren’t we? McGonagall was giving a lesson on Animagi that week, remember? And she pressed into us how many laws and regulations there were. So, as Marauders, we set out to break every one of them. The real mystery is how Pete kept his mouth shut. Can’t ever shut up, that one. We almost told you a thousand times.”

“Wait, that week? You mean when you—Sirius, that was _second year_!” Remus barely had enough energy to put any emphasis behind the words, but he still tried. “You’ve been working on this since you found out about me?” He lapsed into silence, once more so flabbergasted he couldn’t speak. 

Sirius looked so proud of himself that he might bloat with it. “I was a very bright twelve-year-old, Remus. Very bright. And ruggedly handsome. And very influential. James spent a month worried he’d become a flobberworm or something, which is _about right_ , I think, but I talked him through. Gotta say, I’m shocked I’m not a dragon. Or a chimaera. Or a lion.” As if he would be anything but a dog. Sirius was all dog and had been since they’d met. 

“We only just managed it over the summer. And even if you fucking _hated_ me, didn’t matter, did it? I...” He trailed off, at a loss for words. Miracle upon miracle. He nudged Remus with his knee. “You’re a twat. We love you. All of us.”

Of course, the Marauders would have been immediately interested in anything as illegal and regulated as Animagi, but to think they had gone through with it for _him_...Remus could never have imagined someone loving him that much. It didn’t even embarrass him at the moment. All the Marauders were absolute bollocks at expressing their emotions, but Sirius and Remus were the worst of the lot. So, Remus was perfectly fine just sitting in Sirius’ arms in silence, digesting the import of what had just happened. 

Finally, after a long while, he spoke very softly. “Sirius. A lot of people don’t know this, but werewolves remember everything that happens during their transformations. We’re not in control, but we remember.” Now it was his turn to rest his forehead against his friend’s, if only to make sure Sirius couldn’t look away from what he said next. “I remember your stupid stick and James trying to kill us with that tree and falling in the leaves. And I would have remembered Sev—Snape coming into the Shack while I was changed, if he’d made it here.”

All the mirth faded from Sirius’ face, and he swallowed hard. “I wondered. It—it didn’t matter at the time, whether you remembered it or not. Whether you did, whether you didn’t—I knew you’d never be able to live with yourself if he did. It wasn’t even a fucking prank. He tried to frame it as one, but—it wasn’t. He was asking questions too close to the mark, and I was deflecting him off. And this was right after the whole Mudblood thing he pulled with Evans, so he was right nasty about it. He...said some things and I told him to go take it up the ass from the Willow if he wanted some fucking idea. It spiralled. I didn’t realize he meant to do it until...until I saw him go and try it. And he got through, and James...Merlin, James ran to beat him back and I—” He looked down, over the blurred mass of Remus’ nose. “I went to Dumbledore, and Pete went to fetch Pomfrey.”

They had never actually _talked_ about that night, Remus realized as Sirius talked. He had been too sick the first week, and then too angry after that. And so, he made sure to listen, letting Sirius explain himself, and he noted that the other boy didn’t make any attempts at an excuse. He owned it, and Remus was unaccountably proud of him for that. 

When Sirius finished, Remus sighed heavily. “Snape is smarter than any of you give him credit for, Sirius. You should have known he’d eventually take that bait...although you probably didn’t know it _was_ bait at the time. Also watch your mouth.” There was their Prefect, worst one two years running. 

“I didn’t know it was bait, no. I—don’t really care how smart he is at Potions or whatever, I only cared about how smart he was getting sticking his greasy nose in where it didn’t belong. And he’s still fucking doing it.”

Again, Remus gave Sirius’ head a gentle shake, just to make sure he was paying attention. 

“Don’t ever betray me like that again, Sirius. Alright? It’s been killing me for five months, the idea that you hated Snape more than you cared about me.” The hurt in Remus’ voice and his exhausted green eyes was stark. He let the words hang in the air for a few moments before he sat up enough to offer Sirius his hand. “ _Pax_?”

When Remus sat up and offered his hand, Sirius pushed himself slowly off the dusty floor and took that hand, squeezing his fingers. “ _In Perpetuum_ . Remus, I—” He cast a glance towards the door of the shack, as though someone might hear the stupendous thing he was about to spit out. “—there’s nothing in the world that I— _we_ care about more than you. They’re not going to lift any shirts or get their periods and tell you that, but...You’re starkers and you haven’t a shirt on for me to lift, so it’s not...you know. I can tell you. I told you.”

Remus gave Sirius the queerest look while the other Marauder stumbled through...whatever it was he was trying to say. That gillyweed feeling was back in his stomach, and Sirius was about to discover that when Remus Lupin blushed, _all_ of him blushed. “You’re barmy,” he muttered. “Utterly mad. No wonder you became a dog, because you clearly have the brain of one.” He shoved Sirius’ shoulder a bit awkwardly. 

“Now get out of here before Madame Pomfrey finds you. I want to put some trousers on and sleep for a week, and I know that won’t happen with you barking in my ear.”

Sirius, too, blushed, but he did not look away, even when his shoulder was shoved and he grunted like he was dying. “Quiiit, I’m knackered. Been up all night, you know?” He leaned over and deposited a Trademarked Sirius Smooch right on Remus’ forehead, then crawled over to the bag he’d brought in that contained the Invisibility Cloak. 

“I’ll have to go out when Pomfrey comes to fetch. Ha. Fetch, Remus. Do you get it? Fetch? Anyway, they locked us in.” He sat down next to him, helpfully wrapping the Invisibility Cloak around both their bodies so they were simply a pair of floating heads, and waited shoulder to shoulder with him. 

The signal came in the form of a distant James yelling, “CA-CAW, CA-CAW!” as though he was anything resembling subtle. Remus groaned and muttered about reconsidering his membership in the Marauders, something he threatened so often the others worried he was ill if it hadn’t happened at least once by the second week of term. Sirius pulled the cloak over his head and, presumably, waited so he could most easily slip out when Pomfrey opened the door. She left it open long enough for him to slide into the tunnel.

He made very sure not to look at anything but Pomfrey when she came bustling in, and he did his best to look appropriately haggard and exhausted. She gave him the oddest look when she realized he was lacking his usual collection of cuts and gashes, but seemed content simply with the knowledge that he was in much better shape than usual and so would hopefully be taking up space in her infirmary for less time this month. In her usual terse but caring manner, she bundled Remus into a cloak and escorted him back down the tunnel towards Hogwarts and the Hospital Wing. 

* * *

_10 September, 1976_

I don’t want to jinx it or anything, but I think Remus may have forgiven me at least a little bit. We went on the full moon with him and surprised him, and we spent the whole night wrestling and chasing each other through the woods. It was brilliant.

Then, in the morning, he changed back, and that wasn’t half as brilliant. It was pretty awful, really, the worst thing I’ve ever seen. Illustrations and explanations don’t really do the transformation justice, and I can only assume it’s the same going from tosspot to wolf as it is from wolf to tosspot.

I talked a little with Remus after he changed back; James and Peter locked us in so Pomfrey wouldn’t suspect anything was different, and they didn’t ask about it. But I did, I talked to Remus in the Shack and we seem to have gotten some things squared away. I blubbered on like a hausfrau and he let me stay with him once he got back from Pomfrey’s while he slept it off.

Queerest thing I’ve ever done. I was so tired and I didn’t even think about it; maybe it’s the dog in me that’s telling me to do these things and I am beyond all reason. In any case, I slept with him. I didn’t _bugger_ him, mind. Christ. I mean I slept in his bed all day with him, and I am definitely blaming the fact that I am now at least half if not three-quarters dog. The Noble and Moste Ancient did the right thing kicking me out, honestly.

_Sirius_

* * *

_10 September, 1976_

Every time I think I know everything there is to know about Sirius Black, the insufferable git has to go and surprise me. And not just Sirius either. Apparently, James and Peter were in on this too, for years, Sirius tells me. They spent years on this project, keeping it a secret from me this whole time (how they ever got Peter to keep quiet for so long, I’ll never know), just so they could surprise me with it.

If I didn’t already know how difficult it is to learn to be an Animagus, I’d suspect Sirius of concocting the whole scheme just to make me like him again. Because that would be just like him, doing something grand and over the top and usually completely daft just to make me smile.

I woke up sometime yesterday afternoon and found him (still) in bed with me, hugging me like he was afraid I’d try to get away. I think maybe he hadn’t let go of me since I got back to the Tower. It’s always hard to remember after a change. James and Peter don’t need to know. I’m pretty sure Sirius would throw himself off the Astronomy Tower if anybody but me caught him acting like a “bloody shirtlifter”, as he’d put it.

Besides, I don’t think I want to tell anybody ~~that he cried on my shoulder and looked at me like~~ ****Whatever follows is scratched out and illegible.****

I still didn’t quite believe what he’d done until he showed me again today. Of course, he was dying for a chance to show off anyway, once I was conscious. And he looked so bloody pleased with himself, too. I had to remind him that _Peter Pettigrew_ managed it, too. “Of course he did, I was there to show him how.” Sirius Black, ladies and gentlemen.

Things were almost back to normal, too. But of course on the way to Charms we saw Severus, and I remembered last April, and Sirius couldn’t resist going at him, as usual. Maybe even worse than usual, now that he thinks everything is alright again.

Magic can turn a mouse into a teacup, or a person into a dog, or make brooms fly, or turn bugs and things a goat sicks up into a drink to make you invisible. Why can’t it fix all this, too?

_Remus_

* * *

_An Unopened Letter to Remus Lupin, Sent Back Immediately_

_14 June, 1976_

_I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry._

_I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry._

_I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry._

_I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry._

_I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry._

_I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry._

_I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry._

_I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry._

_I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry._

_I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry._

_I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry._

_I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry._

_I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry._

_I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry._

_I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry._

_I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry._

_I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry._

_I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry._

_Please._

_Remus, please._

_Sirius_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sirius Black is written by Penwyn.  
> Remus Lupin is written by PocketFox.  
> Penwyn is your mediocre fanartist, schedule-writer, and playlist curator.


	3. Part 3: Secrets on Our Lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two days, two journal entries, one colossal mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Spotify Playlist for this chapter](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4egx3iJYtNim6jQNJ9yJsr?si=0zcT2PZDQ0Kzt1gtPiPUnw)

* * *

_“Instinct is our guide; a guide that leads to ruin.”_

_― Raymond Radiguet_

* * *

_19 September, 1976_

“I just really think this is my year. This is going to be it,” James said, tapping the end of his quill against his jaw. He did not look up from the parchment he was scribbling on. “She looked at me yesterday and didn’t puke, and that’s a start.”

“I think she’s right about you, personally,” said Sirius. He leaned across the table between them and stuck his hand on the still-wet ink, earning himself a sharp rap on the knuckles for his trouble. “You are a toe-rag. I want to puke when I see you, too, even when I don’t have the flu.”

“She _did_ have the flu. It probably wasn’t you who made her puke in the first place.” Peter was such a good friend that James could have kissed him. In fact, he did, turning on the spot and giving him the loudest, wettest kiss on the cheek he could muster. “...Well, now I want to.”

James sighed and shoved the parchment away from himself at last, sitting back in his chair. “Instead of making a mess for the house elves, why don’t you tell me how to pull her, Peter? You’re the resident expert. And Sirius, you always manage it when you put your mind to it. So, what the hell am I doing wrong?”

Sirius and Peter exchanged a look. “Have you actually had a proper conversation with her since you were twelve?” Peter asked.

“I have.”

“Haven’t,” Sirius supplied. “You mostly just drool on her shoes and go, ‘Uh, er, huh, wow, Evans, nice _tits_.’” He made circles with his index fingers and thumbs, imitating James’ glasses. “‘Are they bigger since yesterday? Merlin’s saggy testicles, I think they are!’” He was rewarded for his impression by Marlene McKinnon giggling from a chair by the fire.

“I—I don’t really sound like that, do I?”

“A little,” Peter said with a wince. “The point is, what does she like to do? What’s her favourite record? With Siobhan, we met at the record store in town, right? So, I asked if I could listen to her favourite one, and then we just started, you know, hanging out.”

James hadn’t thought of music; he blinked at Peter then slammed his palms on the table. “That’s it! You’re a bloody genius, Pete. Where is she?” He looked around the Common Room, hoping beyond hope that she hadn’t been present for Sirius’ re-enactment; luckily, she was nowhere to be seen.

“She has Prefect patrols on Sundays,” Marlene piped up, turning around in her chair. “Reckon she’ll be out another hour. You know, Potter, I’ve lived in the same dormitory as Lily for over five years now. You could ask me, or Dorcas, or any of the other girls.”

James scowled. “That’s a shit idea. You’ll tell her.”

“Is it some kind of secret?” she asked. She got out of her chair and walked up behind Sirius’ chair, resting her hands on his shoulders. James saw all the colour rush to Sirius’ face, and he smirked. “I think the whole school knows you fancy her. And Hogsmeade, too.”

“You’re not exactly subtle about it,” Sirius said, lifting his chin to look up at Marlene with open curiosity. James wondered what it would be like to have his easy charm, to pull women without even trying. He hadn’t even been looking at Marlene, and she’d flitted right over. Envy panged in his gut, and he looked away.

“Better than being creepy-stalkerish about it. Snivellus was trying to be clever, and look where it got him,” he said.

“Snape’s a toad, but he and Lily were friends. Maybe she didn’t like that you treated him like dung when they grew up together? She’s been a right disaster over it, him calling her a you-know-what. You lot didn’t seem to notice. Well, Remus did.”

James squinted at her, frowning. “What do you mean, grew up together?”

“Well, they’re neighbours, aren’t they? Did you—did you not know that?” she asked. “You never wondered why they were friends?”

“Well, yeah, but she’s damned decent. I assumed it was charity for the overly-greasy.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, and James hated him for trying to look cool in front of Marlene. “Even I knew they were neighbours.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m pretty sure I have, but you hear ‘Evans’ and go all loopy. Not my fault you don’t listen,” Sirius half-turned in his seat to look properly at Marlene. “If you’re offering to help the poor lad, don’t make him depressed. He’s bad enough off as is; look at him.”

Marlene pursed her lips and eyed James over. After a moment of consideration, she sighed. “Horses.”

“What?” James asked, frowning.

“Horses. Patti Smith? That’s her favourite record right now. She likes Dylan, too—the old Dylan, early to mid-sixties. Nothing this decade.” Marlene sifted her fingers through Sirius’ hair, then stepped away. “Do with that what you will, Potter. I won’t tell her I told you, if you don’t.”

James watched her go; so, he noticed, did Sirius. He picked up his quill, then wrote the album name on the bottom of the parchment. Sirius rolled his eyes and grabbed it, balling it up and throwing it at his head. “You’re daft. Look, I’ll help you. Don’t say anything when she comes in, or nothing more than, ‘Good evening, Lily,’ and let me do the talking.”

“What am I supposed to do until then?” he asked.

“We have a proposition, actually,” Sirius said, and he turned away from watching Marlene to Peter. “Tell him.”

Peter nodded. “Sirius and I think we need nicknames.”

James glanced between the pair of them and shook his head. “Are we five years old?”

“No, we’re—” Peter looked surreptitiously around the Common Room, then leaned closer. “We’re, you know, _illegal_ . The whole pack thing? Reckon it’s inadvisable to go ‘round talking about it, and Sirius and I nearly got caught. McGonagall already gave us ‘Marauders’; we might want code names to avoid getting caught, I don’t know, _Marauding_.”

Admittedly, it was a good idea, if only because Peter was physically incapable of keeping secrets. James considered it, taking a moment to enjoy the way they both watched for his approval; though they’d never exactly had an election or anything, he knew he was their _de facto_ leader in all things but full moon revelry. “I suppose you two have already come up with them, then?” he asked. “And here I thought you were spending your evenings snogging birds; now I hear you’re out coming up with poncy nicknames for everyone, and I wonder about you. I really do.”

“You’re ‘Prongs,’” Peter said, miming antlers with his hands on either side of his head. “I’m Wormtail, Remus is Moony, of course—”

“Padfoot, for me.”

James’ eyebrows rose. In spite of himself, he was impressed. “They’re—well they’re not _bad_ , actually. You talk to Remus about it already?”

“He came up with ‘Prongs,’” Sirius said. “And he reckons it’s a good idea, too. Keeps prying ears out of our business; people will suppose we’re discussing a particularly rowdy group of pets or something. Besides, if we want to be a proper motorbike gang—”

“I’m not buying one, I told you. Even if I could afford it, I shake the whole time you’re driving yours,” Peter cut in. James couldn’t imagine Peter behind the wheel of any Muggle vehicle; he could barely walk through the halls without bouncing off the walls. Sirius was little better, but he had enough drive for self-preservation to keep his head off the pavement, at least.

“If. We’re. Going. To. Be. A. Proper. Motorbike. Gang,” Sirius reiterated firmly, “then we need gang names. It’s just, you know, kind of queer otherwise.”

“It’s pretty queer as it is,” James pointed out. “But you’re right. We’ll have to get used to it, then. I’ll do some brainstorming tonight over a spliff and let you know what I—”

James cut off with an awkward squawk as the portrait hole opened and Lily stepped through, laughing with Remus.

Sirius gave James a significant look, then swung around on his seat to face them. “Evans, hey.”

Lily blinked, still smiling, and glanced at James before she focused on Sirius. “...Yes?”

“Can I borrow your Patti Smith vinyl? I heard you playing it last night and liked it. Figure I’ll give American punk a go.”

James wanted to scream and slam his head in a door; instead, he sat frozen and staring wide-eyed at Sirius. Peter elbowed him hard, but he couldn’t snap out of it. _Typical fucking deer._ Sometimes, he honestly hated being James Potter.

“Fine, but if you break it, I’ll cut your hair off and feed it to you. You want it now, or can it wait a bit?”

_God, I love her._

“No rush. I’ll take care of it as if it were my very own child.”

“That’s a horrifying thought, actually,” she said cheerfully. “You procreating, I mean. Even the thought of you getting your paws up someone’s shirt gives me nightmares.”

“Don’t dream of me too often, Lils; you’ll give me ideas,” Sirius cooed.

How was it so easy for him to talk to her? People talked to Lily all the time, and Sirius was downright flirting (though he trusted Sirius completely, so he got to keep his head on) as though it was nothing at all to do it. Whenever James saw her, his tongue swelled in his mouth and he wanted to make grand romantic gestures that, unfortunately, she did not ever seem to appreciate.

He wondered if she knew about Sirius’ prank on Severus, or some version of it that didn’t involve werewolves. Considering how it might have looked through her eyes, especially given the information about Snape being her neighbour, made him feel a bit less of a hero.

When she walked by, he caught a whiff of her perfume and closed his eyes.

“Oh, honestly,” Sirius snorted, and he elbowed Remus when he slid in at the table. “You’re not on patrols on Sundays. Where’ve you been, Moony?”

“The library. What’s wrong with Prongs, besides the usual?"

* * *

_A note to Severus Snape, slipped into his stack of books._

* * *

_24 September, 1976_

The weeks following the full moon were, in Sirius’ opinion, absolutely glorious ones meant for Marauder history. Nights after curfew were spent in a haze of smoke, giggling as they came up for new names for themselves. James, brilliant Charms-worker that he was, managed a hex on the lot of them that prevented them from using any of their actual names in spoken conversation under threat of horrifyingly itchy boils that didn’t go away without a visit to the Hospital Wing. 

He was in the best mood he’d experienced in years. Being disowned was nothing in the face of Remus being one of the gang again. All was right in the world (he thought the Blacks could all hang), and as curfew approached one Friday night, he stretched out by the fire in the Common Room. It was the first truly cold night of the year, promising for a brisk Quidditch practice in the morning. He transfigured James’ glasses into pince-nez from across the room and yawned. “Where’s Moony?” he asked. That was the odd thing, wasn’t it? Moony was theirs again, truly theirs, but his increased Prefect patrols had continued. It wasn’t on; Sirius had some ideas about maps he’d dreamed up in a hazy afternoon nap between classes. 

“Dunno, mate. Patrols, I reckon.” James looked over his Herbology book, messing up his hair as he looked around the common room. “Been at it, hasn’t he? Man of my heart. Hard-worker. Someone’s got to do it.” 

“I work hard,” Peter grunted, somewhere behind Sirius’ head. 

“And your marks?” Sirius asked. He was met with silence, and he grunted. “Moony doesn’t have patrols on Thursday nights. Bet he’s passed out in the library again. He smokes too much, makes him loopy. I found him asleep in Wormtail’s bed last week, hand in a packet of crisps. It was pathetic.” He sat up. “I’ll go fetch.” 

“Good at that, aren’t you?” 

He chucked his book at Peter’s head and got to his feet, heading for the library with a spring in his step; he even smiled at some passing third years that looked awestruck by him in general. Yes, he was having a fantastically lazy night with the promise of a good weekend ahead; after all, they were going to sneak into Hogsmeade and he was going to sneak off with some chocolate for Remus. Because he still felt he needed to apologize some more, but also, Remus really liked chocolate. 

The library was mostly empty this late at night; it was less than an hour to curfew, so he wasn’t surprised. Pince gave him an odd look when he passed him, and he blew her a kiss. _Old bat can’t believe I’ve come in the library of my own accord._ He heard the distinct sound of Remus laughing, and he slipped into the stacks. What the _hell_ was he laughing at? He pulled the Invisibility Cloak from under his robes and dipped under it, making sure he was well hidden before he crept towards the sound of quiet chattering by the fire. When he saw, he froze.

For a split second, the scene seemed frozen in time like a Muggle photograph. There they were, tucked under a fleecy through with books and parchment spread around them: Remus, laughing with his green eyes crinkling around the edges and Snape with his hand on the Remus’ back, smiling at him like he had the right. Worse, Remus seemed to _welcome_ the touch, even seemed to lean into it, like he was going to share a secret with the one who should have been his mortal enemy. 

“You’re taking your Potions N.E.W.T.s next year, aren’t you?” Remus asked, although from his tone, it clearly wasn’t actually a question at all. “Have you decided on the others you’ll sit?”

It was difficult to explain later, whispered in heated anger to James, what happened in the five seconds that followed Sirius seeing a look on Snape’s face with which he was all-too-acquainted. After all, he saw it on James’ face every single day when Evans walked by. 

That wasn’t even the worst part. It was the little lean into that spider hand that was touching something that belonged to Sirius Black, that belonged to the _Marauders_. As though a clock counted down in his ears (not that he heard it over the sudden, inexplicable rush of blood and pure rage), it took exactly five seconds. 

Five: Remus Lupin asked his question while leaning into that _slime’s_ hand. 

Four: Sirius Black dropped the Invisibility Cloak. 

Three: Sirius Black took three massive strides out of the stacks. 

Two: Severus Snape caught sight of Sirius, and all mirth and pleasantness dropped off his greasy git _face_ , if you could call it that. 

One: “Hallo, love.” The only warning Severus got as Sirius’ hand fisted in his oily hair. And then, nothing but the most satisfying sound on the _planet_ : that big, honking, beaky nose shattering into a million pieces under the tumultuous assault of Sirius’ fist. 

After, shaking his hand out, he turned on Remus. “He won’t be sitting any. He’s fucking dead.”

The attack was so swift and so brutal, Remus didn’t even have time to react before Severus was on the floor, clutching his shattered, gushing nose. Remus whipped around, and his eyes widened to saucers when he saw who loomed over them. “Si— Padfoot! What the hell— what the _hell_ are you _doing_?” Remus hissed. He moved into a half-crouch between the two, clearly torn on which one he should attend to first. 

Sirius could not believe what he was seeing: Remus, torn between Severus fucking _Snape_ and him. Remus, who two weeks before had been wrapped around him, hands in his hair on the floor in the Shrieking Shack, was fucking _indecisive_ . About _Snivellus_ . Who had tried to get him _exiled_ . Sirius was somewhere far beyond rage in that moment. His world was nothing but rushing fury and shaking hands, and written all over him in bold, black marker: _You accused_ me _of betrayal._

“What’s the matter, Snivellus?” His voice was so unlike his own, trembling and deep and unhinged-dangerous. “Of the ‘Mudblood’ and the—” He did not finish that thought. “You decided the easiest target was the one you tried to get lynched? I’m not fucking _blind_!” His voice was steadily becoming louder, and he heard Pince’s chair scrape back. His pupils were pinpricks.

Remus cursed under his breath and jumped to his feet, keeping himself between Sirius and Severus, who was now scrambling to his feet and staring at Sirius with naked, venomous hate. He didn’t speak—he rarely did around others, and especially the Marauders—but he hardly needed to. There was poison in his eyes. 

Remus shoved Sirius’ chest. “Get _out_ of here, Padfoot! You’re going to get all of us in trouble!” When Sirius instead continued to stare down Snape as though he could cast the Killing Curse with eyes alone, Remus grabbed him by the back of his robes and bodily dragged him into the shadows of the stacks.

There was no sense in the entire situation, as far as Sirius was concerned. His rage throbbed at the edges, trying to pulse out of him, to leak all over the floor. His wordless charms were shit, else he’d have cursed Snivellus to something so beyond mortification, so beyond legal, that they’d toss him into Azkaban. He reached for his wand before Remus made his choice and dragged him into the maze of the library; he did not fight it, only grabbed the Invisibility Cloak and threw it over them just in case Pince came really looking. 

Perfectly still beneath the Cloak, deep in the stacks between Ancient Magical Fungi and Midwifery Charms of the 14th century, Sirius Black set a white-hot stare—wide-eyed and shell-shocked horror—on Remus. They were awfully close; they didn’t fit as easily under the cloak as they used to, now that Remus towered over him. Still, such a glare could make anyone feel about three centimetres tall. “What the buggering _fuck_?” he breathed.

“Look,” Remus started, voice barely more than a whisper of air against Sirius’ ear, “we started owling over the holidays, alright? I was sorry for what happened—” Typical Remus, apologising for something he hadn’t even done. “—and it just sort of went from there. He’s not a git to me, alright? He’s been proper nice this whole time, and I think he feels bad about the...the Incident. So, I didn’t see any reason to stop talking to him now that term’s started.”

Sirius grabbed his wand so fast that Remus would be justified in thinking that he was about to be cursed. He snapped, “ _Muffliato_!” and let the spell settle in around their tiny bubble because holy hell, was he going to scream the castle down. 

Or potentially, he’d _bring_ it down. 

“You felt bad. You _felt bad_ for the _wanker_ who was threatening to go to the fucking Prophet?” Thank the founders for solid construction; the bookshelf did not even shudder as Sirius bodied Remus back against it, nose-to-nose and eyes flashing. 

“Is that why you didn’t fucking write back to _me_ ? You were too busy writing to fucking _Snivellus_ ? Oh, I’ll bet he’s being proper fucking nice to you. No reason to fucking—to stop talking—” He was sputtering with rage, seemingly on the verge of passing out from a total lack of air. In spite of the _Muffliato_ , his voice did not rise above the barest breath. 

His quiet was, perhaps, the most dangerous part. “He’s fucking _using you_ to get to either _me and James_ or to fucking _Ev—_ bloody FUCK.” 

There was the volume at last, as his skin erupted with vicious hives from James’ nickname hex. “Siri—” Remus cut himself off abruptly as the hives bloomed over Sirius’ skin as a warning. “ _Padfoot!_ Calm _down_!”

“YOU SPENT ALL SUMMER OWLING FUCKING SEVERUS FUCKING SNAPE WHILE SENDING MINE BACK.” There it was. Sirius hit his breaking point, which seemed easier and easier to do since the Incident. Remus pressed back against the bookshelf, eyes widening. “EVERYTHING WAS TAKEN AWAY FROM ME, REMUS. EVERYTHING.” 

“This isn’t— Padfoot, please, if you’ll just _listen_ to me—!”

“I HAD NOTHING AND I WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE _MY FUCKING FRIENDS_. HE CALLED EVANS A FUCKING MUDBLOOD. WHAT DO YOU SUPPOSE HE CALLS YOU?”

Tears sprang unbidden to Sirius’ eyes, as though his body could not contain his grief. Through the shimmer, he could see Remus’ panic growing, could feel the fists grabbing hold of his robes. They made no difference. Sirius let the storm whip up inside himself, face wet and watery in the way that a hurricane can be described as ‘damp’. “I’LL GIVE YOU SOME FUCKING IDEA OF WHAT HE CALLS YO—” 

Then, Remus kissed him. His fists tightened in Sirius’ robes and jerked him close, and Sirius was stunned into a still and ringing silence. 

His heart may have actually ceased to beat entirely. The wand clutched in his hand clattered to the floor. The hysterical part of his brain thought that this was fitting, that it was _stupidly_ fitting that Remus _fucking_ Lupin would do all his illicit snogging in the library stacks. 

He was just so fucking bookish. It really was on brand. 

It was almost a joke, how programmed Sirius was to snog on command; while his thoughts raged hysterical and nonsensical, his body reacted to the kiss by, horror of all horrors, kissing him back. The soft sound on his mouth might have come from him, he wasn’t sure, but it also could have come from Remus because his lips slid hot and wet over the _traitor’s_ mouth. 

Remus gasped, and Sirius pressed his advantage.

Sirius Black was an expert at kissing. He kissed every willing bird as often as he could possibly do it. He had counted teeth enough for the tooth fairy to give him an award. 

At the basest levels of fear or stress, men fall back on their training. It felt as though, absurdly, he had spent his very formative teenage years training for this moment: for Remus grabbing him with shaking hands while he, mind shut off entirely, did what he did best. 

First: he fell over. Mostly into Remus, crushing him against the shelves. 

Second: he lit something on fire. Also Remus, most likely, because the liquid heat of Sirius’ mouth and the flash of tongue and teeth was nothing if not a legendary blaze.

Remus moaned, and the sound dizzied Sirius as arms wrapped around his neck and one of his best mates in the entire world stepped into the kiss, returning it clumsily but enthusiastically.

He really, _really_ wasn’t thinking. Remus had shocked him more than anyone had ever shocked him before, and it had done the impossible: there was absolutely nothing going on in his head. It was quiet. _Peaceful? Was this_ _peace_? It was anything but peace in truth, Remus’ arms sliding around his neck and the moan in his mouth. 

_Danger. Fucking danger, you wanker!_

One of his hands slid up from its place on Remus’ back, cupping a scarred cheek in passing before his fingers fisted in sandy hair and he adjusted _fucking Remus Lupin’s head_ just a bit more to the left. His tongue curled around Remus’, slow and sensual. 

He could almost taste the rabbit they’d shared, still screaming, as wolf and dog under the full moon. 

It was Sirius’ turn to moan, and it was so much different than his shameless moaning while having a wank in the boy’s dormitory. It was panting and hot, right into Remus’ mouth, and God if it wasn’t his fucking name. He was already out in hives. 

“Remus,” he breathed again, the very stuff of wet dreams. He broke the kiss, not to pull away, but to drag his stubble across Remus’ cheek and gasp for air against his ear. He licked it, but it wasn’t anything like getting licked by Sirius when he was being a tit. 

It wasn’t anything like that at _all_ , and he felt Remus go weak in the knees.

“Sirius.” The groan, low and lupine, shot straight through Sirius’ every nerve ending...and then Remus gasped and shoved him back as vicious hives exploded across every inch of his skin. The Invisibility Cloak fell away from both of them.

“Hngk.” Sirius blinked as he was shoved and abruptly un-Cloaked, feeling very visibly naked and aroused in spite of all the clothes and, worse, the hives. He looked well-snogged, undeniably so, with his face dark, lips sore, and grey eyes settled from hurricane to sweet, summer shower. Remus stared right back, all wide eyes and tousled hair and kiss-swollen lips.

He realised who he was looking at and registered the flash of terror in Remus’ face. “Wait—” 

Before he could get any further, Remus bolted from the library like all the Dementors of Azkaban were on his heels. Sirius cursed, grabbed the Cloak and his wand, and made chase.

  
  
  


Remus was, perhaps unsurprisingly, making a beeline for the Hospital Wing, because he had just realized there were _hives_ on his _balls_ and he was going to have James’ for this stupid fucking hex idea. His predicament was not at all helped by the realisation that, in spite of endless maddening itch, his hard-on still hadn’t flagged and he was still acutely aware of the taste of Sirius in his mouth. 

Remus groaned—a very unsexy one this time—and banged his forehead against the wall a few times. _Of all the stupid, idiotic, hare-brained—Why? Why did you do that? What is wrong with you, Remus Lupin? What is fucking_ wrong _with you?_

Remus had never been particularly active when it came to sex. He enjoyed a good wank as much as the next bloke, but he never particularly felt the urge to chase down more than that. Now, it seemed like every hormone he possessed had woken up all at once, and they were clamouring for one thing: Sirius fucking Black.

His best mate.

This was just desserts for subscribing briefly to the Sirius Black Manual on Life, which was to simply react and to feel. Whatever Remus had expected from Sirius in reaction to the kiss, that was assuredly not it. He had expected shock—had counted on it, in fact—and instead he received reciprocation. 

And it was the hottest fucking thing Remus had ever experienced in his entire short, sheltered life.

With a curse and a grave threat to James Potter’s life and limb, Remus pushed away from the wall just in time to see Sirius coming after him. 

“Fucking _stop_ , you wanker!” 

_Of course._ Remus darted down the corridor, because the last thing he needed was for Sirius to want to Talk about What Just Happened. Unfortunately, Sirius was an athlete. All those groaning mornings of Quidditch practise and running and exercise did him a world of good as he pursued Remus with single-minded predation. He gained ground, and right in front of the open Hospital Wing door, he grabbed Remus’ sleeve and whirled him on the spot. 

“ _Remus_ . Goddamnit, will you _stop_?” 

Remus was wild-eyed and ready to bolt all over again, balancing on the knife’s edge of freeze and flight. He glanced around, hoping for some sort of interruption or divine intervention, before falling back on his old standbys: deflection and word vomit. “Sirius, I’m—we should—these hives are _really_ awful. I’m going to kill James. You can help if you want, but we should get them taken care of first. They’re really—I said that already. Are yours all over? Mine are _all over_.” 

While he babbled, he surreptitiously edged closer to the infirmary door and out of Sirius’ grip, cheeks flushed and his body on high alert because he could smell Sirius’ cologne and it was _maddening_.

Sirius gaped at him in the face of said word vomit, and he cleared his throat. “They’re—they’re all over. They’ve been for a bit. I was _distracted_.” He eyed the door, then Remus. “Let’s—fine. Let’s go in and get a fucking potion and you’re not going to leave without me, got it?” 

He bit his lip, and Remus stared, colour flooding his face. He hated himself for being rooted to the spot, especially while the hives begged for his attention.

“...You’re a bit undone, Moony. Here, let me.” 

He reached up and righted Remus’ hair, his collar, his robes. He did a once-over and, glancing down, went scarlet and jerked his chin up again. “Better. I can’t help the—the—” 

Remus followed Sirius’ gaze and instantly wished he hadn’t. He quickly turned his back once more, shaking his robes in some vain attempt to hide the effects of their impromptu tryst. The thought of Pomfrey seeing him in such a state was mortifying enough to help. _Thank Merlin_. Clearing his throat, Remus spared Sirius one more awkward look before scurrying into the infirmary, head down and cheeks flaming.

He very nearly smacked right into Severus, who was on his way out. Still a bit bloody, he was wiggling his nose to test the strength of the mend; luckily, his eyes had stopped watering and he could breathe again. He blinked at Remus, hand twitching automatically for his wand but falling back to his side instead. The movement was so slight, it might not have been there at all. 

“Has he put you in the Hospital Wing, too?” he asked, wincing.

Remus couldn’t help but like him, in spite of everything. They’d been minding their own business, tucked under a fleece blanket with books and parchment spread around them while Severus tutored him on a bit of Potions homework that was giving him fits. On occasion they would get distracted, laughing together, and every time Remus felt a small twinge of guilt. 

He certainly hadn’t deserved Sirius’ brutal fist.

There were no words to describe how much it was _not_ the way Remus wanted the Marauders to find out about his friendship with Severus Snape. Merlin’s beard, if he’d had his way, they never would have found out at all.

He’d known better than to extol Severus’ virtues in front of a murderous Sirius, but he started to regret his discretion when he opened his mouth to answer and Sirius did it for him.

“Nice nose, Sniv.” 

Severus’ face bloomed in rage, and he fell into an offensive stance. “Yeah? Nice—” And then he really looked at them. He _really_ looked at them, and a smile spread over his face. “Piss off, Black. I’m _leaving_. Bye, Remus.”

Remus offered Severus an apologetic look and a faint smile. “Sorry about...earlier, Severus. I’ll see you.” They were only seven simple words, but he knew they were risking Sirius’ wrath all the same, and yet he couldn’t just...not say them. That was Remus: the peacemaker, the bridge-mender. 

“Good luck with the hives.” As Severus passed Remus by, he brushed their hands together. Just once. So small anyone might have missed it. 

Remus gave him a slightly startled glance and another of those tiny smiles. It was the complete opposite of the looks he had been giving Sirius only a few minutes earlier: shy rather than needy. Sirius watched Severus pass— _let_ him pass, thank Merlin—without expression.

Pomfrey bustled from her office, took one look at the pair of them, and sighed heavily. “Did you do it to yourselves, this time? No, no, I don’t want to know.” She gave them each a set of three potions and performed some minor spellwork; she was used to the creative nature of James Potter’s hexes, especially as performed on his best friends. Luckily, there were common threads in many of them, and the hives melted away in a few minutes. 

James Potter was still a dead man, but Remus’ mood improved immensely when the hives vanished, and he breathed an audible sigh of relief.

Once they were sorted, she sent them off with a wave and told them to go to bed. Sirius got up first, leaving without even flirting with her _once_. Oddly, it was left to Remus to offer a smile and thanks to Madame Pomfrey, smoothing over her irritation with guileless sweetness, and he couldn’t help but watch Sirius from the corner of his eye. 

Remus watched him leave, hesitating. He wasn’t going to get out of this so easily, but Pomfrey was having none of his loitering and chased him out forthwith. Squaring his shoulders, he left the Hospital Wing, a man on his way to his own execution. 

In the corridor, though, he faltered, and he couldn’t seem to look straight at Sirius. “So, uh, we should...uh. It’s way after curfew, isn’t it? We should probably be getting back to the Tower. Prongs is probably going spare thinking we’re out having a time without him.”

Sirius pushed up off the wall when Remus emerged from the Hospital Wing a few moments after he did, and he gestured towards off in the direction of the Tower. “Let’s go,” he said, and he started off in that direction.

“I’m going to break the ice here, Moony. Couple things, yeah?” He cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets. “First thing’s first, reckon we don’t want to tell Prongs about that. About any of it. Except maybe that his hex works. We’re not, you know. We’re not _like that_ and it was just an accident, right? So why would we need to tell him about it?”

Remus followed meekly, hands shoved into his pockets in an unconscious imitation of Sirius. He cringed when the word vomit started, but when he heard what Sirius actually had to say, he found himself struck by a queer mixture of relief and disappointment. Most of him desperately wanted to pretend their impromptu snogging session had never happened, but a small and vocal minority really, _really_ wished they were heading back to pick right up where they left off.

And wasn’t _that_ the definition of full barking mad? 

“R-right, of course,” he stammered. “He’s going to be insufferable as it is just knowing how well his hex works. I’m still going to kill him, by the way, Padfoot. I’m going to kill him and not even the Wizengamot would convict me.” That sounded normal enough, right?

Sirius’ shoulders dropped the slightest fraction, and he looked over as they walked. “We’ll kill him together, Moony. Really, I probably owe you one, so I’ll take the fall this time ‘round.” He chewed on his bottom lip, lapsing briefly into silence before he did the most Sirius thing Remus could think of: he made it worse and knocked their hips together. “Oy. Who’ve you been snogging, then? Not that I’ve ever thought about it, mind, but I’m shocked at you.”

Remus groaned inwardly. Of all the Marauders, Sirius was _not_ one for making awkward situations less awkward. It didn’t help that the brush of hips suffused heat through his entire body again, and he hunched his shoulders. “Wh-what?!” he squawked. “Snog— I haven’t been! Who the hell would I be? When would I have had the _chance_ , Padfoot?”

Sirius looked painfully awkward, like he regretted this conversation that just didn’t _stop_ . “Well, you must have been snogging _someone_. All those Prefect patrols and running off to the library, I reckon you haven’t been telling the whole truth. Fine, keep your secrets. Whoever it was is a lucky bird, yeah?” 

“Padfoot, just...just stop talking. Merlin’s _beard_ .” Remus tried to casually brush his hair off his forehead, but he wasn’t sure how successful he was with the gesture. Despite his mortification, Remus had to thank the heavens that Sirius hadn’t even come close to guessing the reality behind his increased patrols and late-night library visits. There would have been _blood_ if Padfoot had realized the truth of it.

Sirius did not. “Right. So. The old Padfoot Mystique has been cleared up for you, then, eh?” Remus’ face was so hot he was surprised his hair wasn’t on fire. “D’you reckon I should offer as a public service? Should I _charge_? How much? Now that I am destitute, I’ve got to make my Galleons some way or another. That bit in the library, that’s got to be worth, what. Two, three at least?”

This time, Remus’ groan was audible, and he aimed a cuff at the back of Sirius’ head. “Three Galleons is a bit much to be asking for that performance. Shut _up_.” 

Sirius squawked, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s like you haven’t met me, Moony. All I do is talk. Talk, talk, talk. You’ve got me a bit on my arse here; reckon if I keep talking, something right’ll come out eventually. I don’t know what to say, alright?” This was unusually candid, even for Sirius. Maybe it was the late hour, maybe it was the Potions assignment, but the stark display of vulnerability sobered Remus somewhat. Sirius looked troubled, honestly so, in the way he only ever allowed himself to be vulnerable in front of his friends. 

“We spent five months fighting, and we’ve only just made up, and two weeks later we’re snogging in Outdated Healing References. And I mean, _really_ snogging, Moony. I don’t know if you _noticed_ . And I’m not—and you’re not—neither of us _is_ , and you’re the bookish one here, so you want to tell me what the hell it meant?” 

Remus actually stopped walking, staring open-mouthed at him. “Me?” he said, all dignity lost in the squeak of his voice. 

Sirius came to a stuttering stop and just faced him, looking a bit defeated about the whole thing. “Yes, you. All you do is read. Maybe it was...I don’t know. You know how Wormtail’s cat—bet he regrets that now—would get all pissed off and go have a slap at something when it was riled? Misplaced aggression or something. Maybe it was like that, right?” 

“How the hell am I supposed to know? _You’re_ the one with all the experience in this sort of thing! Didn’t you spend your whole summer hols pulling more girls than you could keep track of? You’d have a better idea than I would!” 

Sirius winced at mention of his summer hols, like it was an accusation, somehow. “I didn’t. I didn’t have time, did I? Prongs pulled about a hundred but really, I was a bit distracted, wasn’t I? With you not—and my parents—there was just one the one time and I didn’t, alright? Maybe that’s what’s wrong with _me_. Maybe I’ve got some misplaced aggression!”

He shoved both hands back through his hair, leaving it a tousled mess all over again. “Look, Padfoot. You’re right, we just got back to normal, so it’s...it’s probably best we just pretend I didn’t—that we didn’t—that it didn’t happen, right? So, we can keep being that. Normal, I mean.” _And so I can get a chance to figure out if maybe I_ am, he added silently. Then, more softly, he said, “Please, Padfoot. I...I’ve missed my best mate.” 

Sirius tucked a messy lock of hair off of Remus’ forehead. “I miss you, too,” he said quietly. “I have, I mean. We’ll forget it. Never happened. It’s not like I haven’t lay one on you before, right?” Sirius, after all, liked to kiss anyone who held still long enough when he was excited, drunk, high, or any combination. He kissed Prongs’ eye once. Still, his voice was entirely too soft and intimate for Remus to calm down. “We’re not fighting. Nothing’s different. Just Pads and Moony, right? Just like always.”

There was that strange feeling again, that uncomfortable combination of relief and disappointment. Remus forced himself to nod, and to not react when Sirius touched his hair. Sirius touched everybody all the time; the bloke was addicted to it, and Remus wondered if it was because his house was little better than a mausoleum. It was something he’d never thought of before, and he gave Sirius a thoughtful look, head cocked and brow slightly furrowed in an expression all the Marauders were familiar with as the, “Oh bollocks, Moony’s _thinking_ again” face. Before Sirius could say anything about it, Remus started walking again. 

“Never happened,” he agreed. “Besides, what person in their right mind—bird _or_ bloke—would snog _you_ , Padfoot?” There was laughter in his voice, and it sounded almost normal. To make sure Sirius knew he was joking, Remus took off running, racing for the Fat Lady before he could retaliate.

* * *

_The Thing That Never Happened_

* * *

_25 September, 1976_

I hope James Potter actually dies. He’s my best mate, my brother really, but fuck him in every available orifice for this nickname idea. It was cute maybe the first five minutes, but I went and fucked up and said Remus’ name and broke out in the worst hives imaginable.

They were everywhere. Every-fucking-where. I went to Pomfrey, but I’m not going to be able to have a proper wank for a week. James just thinks it’s hilarious, but I’m coming up with a solid plan to make him say my name on accident so he can have hives on the end of his cock. Bugger.

James has taken the hex off of me in particular, though (but not anyone else), because I am lauded as a hero for shattering the World’s Slimiest Slytherin’s nose into a billion pieces. It was glorious. It was fucking glorious, and it really just made me want to do it again.

Remus was a real prat about it and said something horrible to me. He said Snivellus isn’t _that bad._ And then he told me he’d been writing to him all summer.

Writing.

To Sniv.

And sending back all my letters.

I really don’t get it, and I’m still upset about it. The only reason I have cooled off about him saying that shit to me is because he bloody kissed me while I was yelling at him about it and my brain has shorted.

**Why**. Why would he kiss me? It’s the worst thing, because I can’t tell James or Peter about it, and I can’t very well talk to him about it because he can hardly look at me now without going weird colours. Not that I want to talk about it. I don’t want to at all, really. I want to forget about it like he said, but I can’t.

I don’t know what I’m doing, or what he’s doing. I should’ve just pushed Snape off the Astronomy Tower and ended it long ago, then we wouldn’t even be having this problem in the first place.

_Sirius_

* * *

_25 September, 1976_

I kissed Sirius Black last night.

I think that’s a definite sign that this term has driven me completely barking mad.

I kissed Sirius Black last night _._

He broke Severus’ nose when he caught us in the library last night (like I’m stepping out on him or something!). I tried to tell him why I get on with Severus, and he must have taken it completely the wrong way, because he exploded. I thought I’d seen every tantrum Sirius Black could throw my way, but this was different. I was actually scared of him for a second, and I couldn’t calm him down at all.

Let it be known here, in writing, that it is complete and utter bollocks that Messr. Remus “Moony” Lupin, Sixth Year Gryffindor Prefect at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, supposedly always knows what to say in every situation.

So, I kissed him.

I mean, it worked, sort of. He stopped screaming. But I don’t think I’ll never be able to look him in the face ever again. My only excuse is that the full moon is coming (eventually) and I was feeling a little loony.

That’s my story, anyway.

I’m sorry, Padfoot.

_Remus_

P.S. Also let it be known here, in writing, that Messr. James “Prongs” Potter, Sixth Year Gryffindor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, will not survive said sixth year. Because I am going to _kill him_ for that stupid nickname hex.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sirius Black is written by Penwyn.  
> Remus Lupin is written by PocketFox.  
> Penwyn is your mediocre fanartist, scribe, and playlist curator.


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